


Forge Me a Chain of Letters, to Ink Me to Your Side.

by Lady_Cleo



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who RPF
Genre: AO3 1 Million, Alternate Universe- classical, Angst, Because Alex Kingston in a corset makes me happy, F/M, Mattex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-25
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-13 04:03:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 40
Words: 65,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1211989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Cleo/pseuds/Lady_Cleo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU- Alexandra had fallen in love with the man in the letters. And he had fallen in love with her. There was just one problem...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Dearest,_

_Yesterday there was a bluejay, jabbering cheerily in the arbor amidst a flock of pigeons. A pretty little bird to be sure, but I wondered as I watched why my heart stirred for him- until I realized he was alone. A lovely interloper in a wandering little community, spared even the small comfort of a single mate or fellow, while the pigeons (dingy and unattractive though they be) are a family._

_What a fool am I, to envy the pigeons?_

A few lines pass on the state of affairs at Kingston Hall, regaling the reader with the just finished wallpaper, and the large map that now hangs in the study. The writer admits to long hours of observation, mentally marking the continent with the possible whereabouts of their beloved.

Worry is expressed over such a prolonged absence in so desolate and strange a country, set apart by an ocean and miles of land. The tentative joy and relief their correspondence brings, lightening long sad hours, is expressed so fervently the reader is sure they can feel it merely by gliding a fingertip over the inked lines.

The letter closes as always, with a wish, a simple command no one in love could hope to refuse. _Keep yourself safe for me. Please deny the chance to prove yourself a hero. Instead think of the welcome that awaits you , ~~should~~ when you return home, whole and healthy, to me. I pray it is incentive enough to safeguard against the siren call of daring and bravery that surely tempts in that foreign land. Recall instead your Penelope, weaving and waiting for her questing love to come home._

_Your adoring wife,_

_Alexandra._

 

The letter was folded calmly, neatly along sharp creases, and returned the pile on the desk. The blue ribbon that binds them together shivered as it pulled taut against the inclusion, and quivered beneath the tapping fingertips of the man seated there. He sighed, drawing fingers through a tumbling shock of hair that perpetually flopped across his brow before returning to the stack of correspondence.

There were two trunks in the room behind, both open and awaiting further action. Lt. Matthew Smith was moving from the officer's quarters to the tent in which he now sat, the commander's quarters. It was the way of things- with the lieutenant colonel dead, he was acting captain of the company until a new commander arrived- but though he knew he _could_ lead, it had never been his ambition to do so.

He was also in the process of packing up the late commander's belongings, so they could be sent along to his widow. He had gotten sidetracked by the bundle of letters, needing comfort and distraction from the morbid track of his thoughts. It still amazed him that a man - especially one who filled space the way the commander did- could be reduced to a box. Placed in pinewood and buried in the ground, set into little shelves and chambers with rotting ancestors, the contents of a life conscribed to a trunk a scant three feet wide.

There were freshly polished boots at the bottom, a silver backed brush and shaving kit wrapped in an off-duty shirt in one corner. A hard case containing the commander's sword and saber fit against the back. Two heavy rolled blankets nestled a leather pouch of toiletries that included a box of tooth powder, nail scissors, and glass bottles of hair oil, liver oil, liniment, laudanum, and cologne. A few small souvenirs and trifles, mostly taken off fallen enemies, rested on the compartmented shelf that would go on top, along with stationery, quills, and inks in a case; a box containing a medal and a few combat ribbons fit to one side. Florian's journal- only skimmed for potentially shocking entries- was wrapped in the embroidered pillowslips he'd brought from home. A perfectly pressed uniform- the spare, rather than the one Commander Haertel had died wearing and been buried in- rested on top.

Having slotted the shelf into place, Matthew prepared to seal the trunk and lock it before securing the key in the letter he'd drafted informing Florian's widow. But he remembered the stack of letters on the desktop, carefully bound and kept safe. The bundled papers felt cool and too heavy in his hand as he stood regarding the trunks before him. Should he return them? He supposed he should, by rights, but he couldn't bear to part with them. So he gently placed them on the shelf of his own trunk, and sealed the commander's without them.

It was wrong. She had written to her husband. It had been a correspondence that carried friendship and peace and affection and escape across time and distance. Love had begun to bleed through, infusing the ink itself with deep promise, the quill with honest eloquence, the paper bearing the readers away to the other's side like pages in a spell book.

Alexandra had fallen in love with the man in those letters, and he had fallen in love with her. There was just one problem... he wasn't her husband.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been tweaking and editing and re-editing this for over a week. I finally just gave in and posted.  
> there will be more to come. rated T... for now.


	2. Chapter 2

_Dearest,_

_The days have been so long without you, and the nights grow even longer in your absence. I hope you will forgive the forthrightness of such an admission, but your letters ease my loneliness a little. I hold each one against my chest as though I can feel your heartbeat within the pages. The paper is cool against my skin, though I swear I can feel your touch within the words._

_They bring me hope, and fuel my dreams of you. And I find time grows less interminable, that I can safely bear its passing until your next letter arrives..._

It was to be their first night together, and Alexandra was nervous. She was a widow, a mother, no longer a shy virgin spinster, and Matthew had promised her a month to get used to the idea of... marital duties. She understood his need to try for an heir, and he appreciated her need for time to grieve before attempting to... move on.

But he had insisted they share a bed in the meantime, sleeping together each night in the master's suite, and the thought made her unaccountably uneasy. He had been her husband a mere three days, and it had been nigh unto a year since she'd lain with a man- sleeping or otherwise. Hmm. _Perhaps not that unaccountable after all._

Having fed her daughter and deposited her in the crib beneath the far window, Alexandra dithered about the room trying to stretch the time out. She ran the brush through her curls, the soothing repetition relaxing her a bit. Out of habit, she deftly rolled it into a twist and pinned it in place. _Where was he?_   He'd said he would come to her after dinner, but not specified when, and the ticking of the mantel clock was growing louder by the second, blending in a deafening duet with the thumping of her heart. She was debating climbing into bed and feigning sleep until he arrived, or attempting to read and stay awake until he had drifted off alone - when a voice broke into her musings.

"Good evening, my dear." Her new husband burst into the bedchamber so swiftly, Alexandra jumped a foot. She was still so unused to a man wandering around in her life, especially this one...

 

Florian's death had been shockingly sudden, and she still missed him, still loved him, still expected him to come back home to her. Instead, his first lieutenant- an improbably young man named Smith- had returned in his stead and "rescued her" from her grief. One half-hearted attempt on her life made in a moment of temporary derangement, but of course he had been on hand to witness it and decide she needed saving.

She hadn't really meant to overindulge. The laudanum had been a refuge, allowing her to sleep and dream of her darling- the man who had so changed from the cold stranger she'd wed on short acquaintance. Married scarcely a month, he'd signed into the 11th company, a band of Fusiliers and disembarked for the Canadian shores.

She had been grateful for the wedding night and the fortnight of quiet bliss that had followed. For from those brief moments in his arms- before he'd begun active pursuit of active service- she had been blessed with Salome, the curly-haired light of her life.

That first month he'd been away, she'd cried nearly every day, worried she had been somehow less than he desired, had somehow failed as a wife- though she knew not how. Her nails were worried ragged at the thought she had spurred his desire to flee Kingston Hall for the uncertainty of life abroad with the regiment. _What had she done?_

Her first letter, posted at the end of those first interminable weeks, had dared to express her concerns amid plans for the hall and ideas for the flower gardens come the spring and her desire for him to return home safe- and soon.

_I completed the sketches for your library yesterday, and lost myself in thought for nearly an hour. The outline seemed to leap out and build itself around me, and with little difficulty, I could see you working at the desk I am commissioning, almost hear the quill scratching over the parchment sheets. Then I saw you look up, impatient at my interruption. Is it wrong to hope, my love, that I then imagined a warm smile stealing out when you recognized it was me? That you set aside your quill, and rose to greet me happily, and were content to abandon your work a while to share my company?_

_I heartily implore forgiveness for anything in word or deed that kept you from my company, that hastened your departure away from our home. Please say that you can forgive me. Please tell me... when you return._

 

A few weeks later, pondering the thunderous illness that had beset her, she'd set an appointment with the village surgeon. Pacing impatiently in the hall for her driver, she'd nearly run at the sound of carriage wheels- only to have the post thrust into her hands by an ancient postman. Tossing it onto the small hall table, she'd noticed one letter that streaked away from the rest, as though anxious for her attention. It was from Florian. Gathering it into her pocket to read on the drive, she'd bundled into her coach and set off for the village.

The language was somewhat stilted, but he had reassured her of his affections and commented on her plans for renovating the East Wing. She could have left it there, but once the doctor had run a few tests and produced a diagnosis, her next letter was being composed in her head on the carriage ride home.

It was roughly 5 weeks until she received his reply, and she knew not if the delay had been due to shock, discontent at her news, or a skirmish of action. Once it arrived, his letter sat on her vanity for a further three days while she worked up the courage to read it. He was well, but minor unrest in the province had delayed the post for over a week. As regarded her news, he was - in his own words - overwhelmed but happy at the turn of events, and asked for reports of the pregnancy's progression in her correspondence... should she choose to wrote again.

There was something endearing about his uncertainty- as though the choice were hers, as though he _cared_. The realization brought a smile to her lips, and she sat down at her escritoire without further ado.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay! I've been agonizing over what should come next, and how it should go.  
> this chapter probably raises more questions than it answers, but there will be more on the way soon.  
> and yeah, I'm going to pop back and forth between what's happening now and what happened then, so hopefully it's not too confusing or annoying to read. I'm doing it for a reason... I think.  
> comments, suggestions, and kumquats are all appreciated. hope you like it.


	3. Chapter 3

Matt stood staring across the bed at his wife of three days, drinking in the form of her clad in a black nightgown, those rambunctious curls (so much more perky with each passing day) pinned up in a twist. She was lovely, and life was returning to her by the hour, adding a soft light to her eyes and color to her cheeks. Although it seemed to be the only place color appeared around his wife. With only a few days of rest, good food and fresh air, the shadows beneath her dazzling green eyes were already softening, her skin was shedding its deathly pallor, and her hair was transforming from lifeless straggling locks to wild spun gold shot with copper and bronze. But her clothing seemed only to highlight all the colors to be found on her by so being devoid in comparison.

"Is all your clothing black?"

She gaped at the impertinent question, and crossed her arms across her chest with a huff. "Sir, that question is... I am in mourning. Mourning clothes are black." His head inclined to the side a fraction of an inch as he regarded her a moment, and she felt an indefinable emotion at the faint amusement she caught in his eyes.

"Even your undergarments?"

"Good god, Sir!" She snatched up her pillow and held it to her, glaring at him through the blush setting her face aflame. Her reply came through gritted teeth. "As I said, I am in mourning. For my husband."

The slight flinch of a muscle in one cheek was the only betrayal that his own jaw clenched at her words. _"I_ am your husband, ma'am," he ground out, as his gaze flicked to the bundle of letters bound with a green ribbon that had been hiding beneath her pillow. Her eyes followed, widening at the reveal, and she swallowed a small gulp before raising her gaze back to his as he continued. "Much as you might wish otherwise."

She sighed and took a single step toward the bed to climb in, when his command flew across the mattress like a hurled dagger. "Take it off."

Frozen by shock, she blinked a few times before speaking. "You mean, you would have me sleep..." She could not finish the sentence.

"Not if you don't wish to, but for God's sake, Alexandra, this is a bed- not a bier. You are not sleeping beside me in that. I have a clean shirt you may wear instead." He turned on his bootheel and strode to the armoire at the near wall. He paused in his rifling of a drawer when he heard her speak behind him.

"Is it... the garment itself you object to, or the color?"

The drawer slid shut noiselessly despite the shove he gave it to close, and he stalked back to the bed before replying. "The color," he said simply, flinging a shirt onto the covers between them like a gauntlet. She gathered it up, directing her speech to the fabric instead of the man before her.

"Very well, sir. But know in my heart I still wear my mourning."

The first button at her neckline was barely popped when he spoke again. "Leave it. Just... leave it. You may keep your nightgown and your letters, your grief and that damn buried heart of yours. I don't feel like being second choice to a dead man."

He tugged his boots off, slinging them in annoyance at the wall before flinging himself into his side of the bed. Turning to the far wall and hugging the mattress's edge, he left her to join him as she dared. The banked fire in the hearth cast an unfittingly warm glow on the room as the other side of the mattress dipped beneath the slight weight of the woman who now bore his name. They both sighed into the darkness and tried to ignore the presence of the other.

Alexandra feared a month would not be enough time; Matthew feared it would last forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back to back chapters, but only because I thought this scene should finish.  
> I've got more written but I'm editing til it seems to look right... or I can't stand to read it one more time.  
> this is going to jump back and forth for a while, so I hope you don't mind.


	4. Chapter 4

Matt had abandoned the bed after a few restless hours, padding down to his study for a rare but much-needed drink. He was in trouble. For starters, he couldn't get the image of his wife's naked form to banish itself from his mind...

The night he had visited Kingston Hall, to find her and reassure himself that she was alright- perhaps even be permitted to see her darling daughter… that night had changed his life forever.

There had been no answer to his knock at the main door, no servant had ushered him in from the cool September evening. But the door had been unlocked, and he had slipped in, calling out as he did a cursory check of the front rooms and hall. She had not been awaiting him in the parlor, despite sending her agreement to meet him that evening to the posting inn the night before.

Eventually another oddity- the sound of Salome’s crying from an upstairs room- sent him bounding up the staircase three at a time, for once grateful of his long limbs if it got him to her any faster. There had not even been a halt from a passing chambermaid as he hit the upper landing, and he followed the noise, cursing Alexandra's errant servants with each step.

When there was no answer to his fusillade of knocks, he entered the bedchamber and immediately winced at the removal of the dampening door. Alexandra lay in bed, a small lump beneath the covers, apparently oblivious to the squalling infant in the bassinet before the window. Shaking her shoulder produced a small noise of complaint- not unlike that of her daughter- but she did not rouse further.

Matt rolled his eyes and stalked to the bassinet, regarding the red-faced child with wary caution before he gathered her up in his arms. She instantly settled, tiny fingers gripping a freshly polished button on the uniform he still felt most comfortable in, and stared up at him with solemn brown eyes. The fingers of one little hand crammed themselves in her mouth, and he scanned the room while she gummed her knuckles.

A glass bottle of milk sat in a ewer of water on the hearth, and Matt strode to collect it, discovering the bottle and its contents warm to the touch. A curious rubber contraption floated in the water as well, and after shifting Salome to one arm so he had use of both hands, he discovered it fitted into place over the bottle’s opening with a soft snap. Settling it against Salome’s lips with a mindful eye, he watched as she suckled hungrily. After walking with her a few minutes, he determined she could be set back in the bassinet to finish feeding if he propped the bottle on the blanket’s edge.

In all this time, her mother had still not stirred, nor noticed his presence, and he stepped to the bedside again to try once more. Shaking her shoulder this time produced a slumping half-turn, and he spotted a small blue vial clutched in the cold fingers of the hand that fell free with the motion. Prying the vial from her grip, he pulled the cork and inhaled gently, grimacing at the identification. A tincture of strong laudanum, with a faint ginger scent, met his nostrils and he pocketed the container before striding to the bell pull by the fireplace and yanking firmly.

He had just taken post at the foot of the bed when two maids appeared, apparently as startled by his presence in their mistress’s rooms as they were the summons itself. His authoritative commands cut off any questions they may have had.

“Fetch a footman, or anyone on the floor to bring buckets of cold water and ice- as much as may be carried. Fill this,” he said, kicking the copper hipbath that stood near the crackling flames, “and be quick about it.” They had already reached the doorway when they turned to ask just one thing. “ _Cold_ water and… ice, sir?” “Yes,” Matt replied in annoyance. “Now!”

In between deliveries of the bucket brigade that came and went, he stripped off and stowed his crimson uniform jacket, checked on the now sleeping girl in the crib, and found several thick towels to place on a nearby wingchair.

Once the tub was filled to his satisfaction, he rolled up his shirtsleeves, strode back to the bed, and gathered the still, cold form up in his arms. When he reached the tub, he eased her in and let go; she instantly sank, a boneless curling mass like a strip of apple peeling in a sink. He grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her up, then plunged her back below the water like a laundress working a soiled shirt.

A few repetitions and she began to stir, mewling (appropriately enough) like a drowned kitten. It took three more dips before she started to push at the hands that held her, and he encouraged the fight until her eyes opened and fixed on his. When she began to shiver and thrash in earnest, he pulled her out and set her feet on the plush carpeting, frowning at the next step. She gasped in a few lungfuls of air before the spark faded back out and she went still again in his arms.

Not a soul had returned to his aid or that of their mistress in the quarter hour or so he’d been tending her, so he drew a deep breath and bent to reach the hem of her sodden nightdress. It had just cleared her head when she started to slip from his one armed grasp, and the wet fabric hit the hot bricks of the hearth with a sizzle when he flung it away to catch her.

Steadying her on her feet, he eased a hand back to the toweling material piled behind him and wrapped a length around her before she had a chance to fumble again. She managed an unfocused stare at the wall, blinking benignly through her shivers but staying upright, so he knelt down to start drying her off. He began at her feet, then moved up her legs and over her back as he turned his face to the flames. By the time he reached her chest, eyes kept firmly on her face as he tried _not_ to feel the firm globes through the thick terrycloth, he noticed her watching him. It was the silent trusting look of a child being dried off by a nanny after bathtime- no fear, no concern, no modesty.

The deathly blue pallor on her flesh slowly faded as he chafed the skin across her shoulders, but her teeth chattered like a hailstorm until he bundled her into a clean nightgown and wrapped her sodden curls in fresh toweling before guiding her back to the bed. She went meekly, quiet and trusting as a toddler, and he had her propped up against the headboard and tucked snugly under a clean quilt just as the door burst open. A servant and a motley trio of men scurried in.

The first to speak was a little acorn of a man, short and stout with a thin reedy voice quivering with indignation. “Good God, sir! Have you no shame? To molest a widow thus, in her own bedchamber, beneath the very noses of her servants?” He was too well fed for a clergyman, Matt thought, and his plain black clothes hinted at quality, despite the snow white collar announcing his vocation.

“Those _servants_ have left their mistress well enough alone for quite a while, if her appearance is indicative of their concern. I would hesitate to leave a **dog** to their mercy.” A man in hastily done livery- the majordomo, if his superior attitude and arrogant mien were any clue- made little outraged noises, but failed to offer anything further to dispute the claim.

“Even so,” the vicar spluttered, “it is entirely… improper for you to be here. With Lady Haertel. Like… this,” he concluded with a flailing gesture at the bed.

A well-draped barn door of a man spoke up then, introducing himself as the local magistrate and legal counsel for those in need. “Perhaps not, Everett. There may yet be some… explanation, some… minitigating circumstance.” His voice- a slurring pretentious baritone to counterpoint the vicar’s nervous clarinet- grated on Matt’s nerves. He felt an itch to drive his fist into the man’s unfortunately gin-blossomed nose despite his impressive ‘wide as he was tall’ physique- or at least acquaint him with a bloody dictionary.

“Indeed, sir. There is what you may call a _mitigating_ circumstance.” The magistrate might have flushed at the correction, but his perpetually florid complexion made it impossible to tell. “I have just saved her life!" The men stood dumbfounded a moment-though under the weight of his claim or the volume with which he'd delivered it, he knew not. Then the magistrate broke the spell by blurting out a relevant but inappropriate "Why?" in a voice expressing frank bewilderment.

That urge to punch the man was coming back, and Matthew took a very deep breath before he laid out his credentials. "I was Lt. Col. Haertel’s _aide-de-camp_ and second in command, recently returned due to a loss in my own family. I...” he broke off, swallowing the falsehood that sat bitter on his tongue, and instead finished with an acceptable version of the truth. “I have sworn to look after this woman. She is under my care and protection, and I am her loyal servant - as I served her husband.”

Even with the elucidation, the next half hour was spent in a round-robin argument over the mute widow who lay huddled in the bed, willfully disconnected from reality. The servants stealthily emptying the bathwater had finished only a few minutes before, and so were not on hand when Matthew announced his entirely unexpected intention to wed her, since it was clear (at least to him) that no one at the house gave two figs about her welfare.

A short shocked silence stretched out before the vicar agreed to hear Matthew’s confession while the magistrate tried and failed to recall any legal precedent that would bar the proceedings. Any servants who answered the bell pull were sworn as witnesses, and the vicar stuttered through a brief ceremony. Lacking a wedding band, Matthew suggested a handfasting element and used his tie to bind their left hands as he spoke vows. Alexandra’s impassive “I do” – her only utterance all evening - made it official, and Matthew ushered everyone out after signing the marriage certificate.

He pulled off his boots and socks, checked on the still slumbering infant once more, laid a fresh log on the fire, and set another thick coverlet over Alexandra before lying down beside her. He passed the night on top of the covers, fully clothed and sweating, while his new wife lay shivering in her sleep in a cottony cocoon.

The first of his problems was that since that night, he could not stop recalling what she looked like beneath her clothes. She was perfect as if she’d been sculpted in fine marble- and indeed, she’d been as pale and cold to the touch as true stone that night, silent as a statue with that poison in her veins. After the shock bath had revived her, the fire and the tender ministrations of his hands brought her further back to life- a Galatea in his midst- and her body had begun to glow in the firelight.

Her skin was burnished with copper shades and sunset flashes. Amid the luscious curves she bore despite a clear lack of recent appetite, the dips and hollows and swells of her body held liquid fire, and she looked as though she’d been delicately brushed with gold dust.

The sweetly erotic image constantly hovering on the fringes of his consciousness was going to drive him mad. _But,_ Matthew thought with a sip of burning liquor and a rueful shake of his head, _what a way to go._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first dictionary came out in 1828. there were glass nursing bottles with vulcanized rubber nipple tops by 1845. the story is mid 1800s.  
> hope you're with me so far. Matt's other issues and a bit more backstory are coming up next... including how those letters got started.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> posted early in honor of Alex Kingston's birthday.

Lost in his thoughts, Matt stared into the glittering embers in the hearth until pinpricks of light stayed behind his closed eyes. He swirled the few swallows of brandy that remained in his glass, debating if he wanted to finish them or not. Liquor wasn't going to help the situation- perhaps nothing could- but it helped burn away the cold bitter feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he sighed at the fleeting relief.

There was a disagreeable irony to the point that while Matthew was honest to a fault, the largest quandary in his life was predicated on a lie. Alexandra, his beautiful resisting wife, was in love with the wrong man. She'd fallen in love with the man who'd written her. She thought she'd fallen in love with her husband- and after recent events, she was partially right. But for what felt like the thousandth time, Matt cursed himself for ever having put pen to paper when it came to Alexandra Kingston.

The first letter had been a fluke, a bizarre rarity of chivalry and common decency- traits which his commander appeared to be sorely lacking. It had been so strange. A gently perfumed letter had arrived in the post, and Matt had carried it to the commander's tent with the utmost care. "Sir, there's a letter for you." The letter had been scanned with a barely disguised boredom, before Lt. Col. Florian Haertel had crumpled it and cast it aside.

"Bad news, sir?" Matt asked as he rescued the wad from its precarious perch near the campfire.

"Worse. It's from my wife."

“I was unaware you were married, sir. You don’t wear a ring.” Haertel opened a small box of personal gear, rifling through the contents until he pulled out a slightly battered gold band on a length of chain. "It's a manacle, Smith, a single chain link that binds me to a--" he broke off and it was tossed back in and the lid slammed shut before Matthew could say anything more about it.

Smoothing the paper against his pantleg, Matthew tried again. “In any case, she cared to write you. That’s more than some men in the ranks have. She can’t be as bad as all that… can she?”

Florian let out a long-suffering sigh, as though he were being asked to take down a giant with a pen knife. “Smith, not that it’s any of your damned business, but since you are now aware of her existence, let me explain a little. She mentioned she might write while I was away, and I neither encouraged nor discouraged the intention. My reply was never a criterion. And I do not _care_ about flower gardens and budding emotions, nor do I have one scintilla of interest in the condition of the blasted front steps. The house may crumble around her ears before I return and I would not mind a jot.”

The callousness of his commander was startling, and Matt fought the pull of gravity on his jaw. He offered the somewhat restored paper to the air near the commander’s shoulder. “But sir… surely the, the gentlemanly thing to do would be to… reply.” He resisted the urge to quail beneath the hard gaze Florian threw him, and swallowed before he concluded, “Well, wouldn’t it?”

“Ugh. For God’s sake, man,” the commander grumbled as he snatched the letter from Matt’s grip, crumpling it once more and firing it at his chest. Matt fumbled a moment to catch the ball before it fell into the fire pit below. "If it means that much to you, Leftenant, YOU write her."

So he did. Matt had penned a simple reply, attempting to convey suitable responses to her plans and questions. With the exception of his affectionate reassurance, he stuck to topics he felt Florian might have discussed, had he been of an inclination to write to his wife. He sent it and put it from his mind... although her letter was folded smooth and placed in his dispatch case. It should have been a one-off.

Then the second letter had arrived, explaining her impending pregnancy. Matt had read the letter first, surprised by the reply but curious as to the contents- at least to apprise its value to his commander (or so he told himself.) But when he had dashed into the commander's quarters, letter flapping to spill the news, Florian's response had been decidedly understated. A quick scan of the letter's contents had produced an eyeroll before he'd passed the letter back and strode to examine a nearby map. "Sir?" Matt began. "Will there be any reply?” “No,” came the flat rejoinder. “But… sir, don't you care?" "Smith, the way my luck has gone with this marriage thus far, she'll have a girl just to spite me. Let it lie."

Matthew had taken nearly a week to pen his reply, telling himself it was madness to continue, but unable to leave her in such a delicate condition without any support from... the man she was writing. The distinction helped him stomach the deception he undertook with every pen stroke, and justify the thrill of anticipation he felt at the hope of her reply.

The next two letters (sent a few days apart because of a swift resolution she wished to inform him of) were delivered by an aide, and placed in Comm. Haertel's quarters before Matt even knew of their existence. Florian had watched him twitch for over a week before taking a form of pity on him and asking if the letters were what he sought. "If you can find them on my desk, you're welcome to them. I'd forgotten they were there."

After that, Matt had taken over postal duties himself, intercepting the mail and adding Alexandra's letters to his own paltry pile. A letter from a devoted sister and a yearly spot of news from their estranged elder brother (or his fatuous wife) was the sum total of his correspondence, so he was glad for the addition, the news from home- even a home not his own.

Only once in those stark months had Matthew broached the subject once more. The warm vibrant woman that came to him on pages of lavender scented stationery seemed an odd match for his iceberg commander, and nothing at all to seem deserving of such bitter contempt. Following an uneventful week and a good turn at the card table, Florian had insisted Matt join him for a drink. Matt rarely indulged, but seized upon the opening provided to ease into a conversation with his superior.

"Sir... why _did_ you get married?"

A short bark of laughter issued from the man before the fire, poking a log with the dusty toe of his Hessian. "Oh Smith. I keep forgetting how very... young you are. Just because you were here before me, and Leftenant is such a high rank... still, suppose you must have earned it somehow." He stared moodily into the flames for a while, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before he spoke again. "Why did I get married? Well, in truth, I had no great desire to link myself to anyone, not for several years at least. But a codicil in my father's will barred me from receiving my full inheritance unless I was wed before my 35th birthday. I learned of the amendment a scant 5 weeks to the deadline. Wed I must, so search I did.

None of the insipid debutantes or simpering beauties in our neck of the woods seemed... an appropriate match. But Kingston Hall was not too far from our estate, and Alexandra was recently possessed of a modest fortune and not a little beauty herself, and she was... convenient." Matt's fingers tightened around his untouched glass, and he ground out in a deceptively neutral tone, "Con- convenient?"

"Well, for a first wife, anyway. She was on hand, didn't irritate me unnecessarily, and it didn't take much effort to woo her to the altar. She's nearly my age, after all and I figured like as not barren- though she proved me wrong on that one. Eh. Since I'll divorce her upon my return, it makes little matter to me. The next wife can always produce an heir, eh, Smithers?" Laughing a bit too heartily at his own distasteful joke, Florian surged to his feet, swaying a little as he went to refill his glass yet again. Matt had bidden a hasty good night and fled to his tent, pulling a letter from the bundle in his dispatch case and tracing a finger over the words as though he were caressing the cheek of the woman that wrote them.

"Oh, Alexandra..." he breathed into the stillness. "He doesn't deserve you."

After that night, neither man sought the other's social company, and things returned to business as usual.

They had been arguing over who was to lead the "settlement" patrol. The fighting had drawn to a close 3 months ago, and they were now involved in skirmish suppression and peace maintenance. Florian was chafing under the quieter times and had gone head to head with Matt about which of them should lead the boring detail; pulling rank, he had issued Matt the lead position and they'd not spoken until the following morning.

The day he'd last seen Florian alive, a letter had arrived. Alexandra had given birth to a girl and hoped Florian would approve of her name- Salome Violetta. Figuring the man should at least know, Matt had rushed to his tent as the patrol was preparing to mount up. The utter contempt in Florian's voice as he said "I told you so" turned Matt's stomach, but he had decided a ride was the remedy for his disappointment and left his lieutenant behind in the dust. He'd returned over the back of Williamson's horse a blood-spattered corpse.

Between funeral arrangements and the sorting of his and Florian's personal effects, it had taken a while to pen and post his notification to Alexandra. He also needed to make sure his handwriting was sufficiently... altered to avoid suspicion. And if he were brutally honest with himself, he was _loathe_ to sever the cord of their connection, his surrogate lifeline to a home he would never have.

By his calculation, he'd gotten the news that his brother was dead and he'd inherited the title the day the notification had likely arrived at Kingston Hall. He hadn't wanted to stay under another’s command anyway, and now had the means to return home- as much of a home as Gallifreya could be. The fact that he could check on the commander's widow and hope to restore his peace of mind was an added bonus.

The final issue was by far the worst. He'd fallen in love with her over the course of their correspondence, and now had not the faintest idea what to do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that's how he got mixed up in it. and now you know.  
> quick timeline note: unless otherwise stated, I'm figuring each letter took 3 weeks to travel. his notification arrives in about 5 weeks, and it takes him about that long to get his affairs in order and head home. the night he checks on Alexandra and ends up marrying her, Salome is about 14 weeks/3.5 months old, and mom's been grieving for a little over a month (5-6 weeks. deep depression for maybe the last 10 days.)  
> anyway, next chapter is Alex's POV and we should get back to the story.


	6. Chapter 6

When Alex had woken that first morning, the presence of a strange man in her bed had produced a scream that could be heard two counties over. The servants roused by the cry had followed her orders to summon the authorities, although they had looked to _him_ for confirmation before complying. Granted, the sight of her guarding her daughter’s crib while brandishing a fire poker _was_ probably jarring, but damn it this was still her house.

He’d backed away calmly, gathering his boots and left her alone to dress and change. She’d just begun to breathe normally again when he arrived back a half hour later with a tray of breakfast. She was about to yell at him again when her stomach roiled at the smell and she pressed a hand over her mouth.

“That’ll be the laudanum working its way out of your system. Your appetite should return to normal in a few days,” he said, offering her a fresh cup of tea. “This should help.” She remained standing, and staring. “Alexandra, my arm is getting tired. Can you please take the tea?” Approaching cautiously, she sniffed the steaming liquid, tasted a dab of sugar on her finger, and watched a film of milk cling to a spoon she dunked in the pitcher. He watched her with a curious expression that bore the merest suggestion of entertainment.

Deciding the tea was safe to drink, she was thankful her stomach settled with a few sips, and she sat down to discover she was ravenous. He had filled a plate for her, which went untouched as he watched her between bites of his own food.

But he didn’t keel over, and eventually the aroma of the fruit, scones, coddled eggs and hot chocolate were enough to make her not care anyway.

They ate in silence, Alexandra sipping the last of the hot chocolate with a sigh and a contented fullness. Whoever this crazy man was, he hadn’t tried to hurt her or her daughter and he _had_ brought her breakfast. Still, perhaps now he would leave.

He wiped his mouth delicately with a serviette, set it aside, and began to speak. “We leave tomorrow afternoon, so I suggest we get the maids packing as soon as possible. Perhaps you can devise a list of what is to be packed room by room, so it can be done while you work on another room. But bear in mind my home estate is quite well furnished, so please attempt to not go overboard.” _Okay. Perhaps not._

She felt her jaw drop open at his calm pronouncement, as though he were commenting on the weather and not the proposed total upheaval of her life. “Are you _mad_? I’m not going anywhere with you!” “But I’m your husband.” “No. No you’re not. My husband is dead.”

At that point, the authorities arrived, and when she demanded they remove the deranged stranger, they simply confirmed what he stated. Yes, she _had_ consented to wed him when they had been summoned the evening prior, and he _had_ wed her to rescue her from scandal and a perceived lack of care.

The splitting pain of a headache threatened behind her eyes at the news, and she turned to glance at him only to find he was regarding her with a look of decided concern. She couldn’t stand it. She asked him to leave while she consulted with the men on possible courses of action.

“I know it’s disconcerting to awaken and find yourself married-” the magistrate began, only to have Alexandra leap over his words. “ _Clearly_ I was not in my right mind. Surely it’s not… legal!” The magistrate sniffed his disapproval at both her interruption and the implication of her suggestion, and assured her she had indeed given her consent - before witnesses.

She turned pleadingly to the other man in the room. “Then can it not be annulled?” The vicar looked uneasy, shifting in his seat before answering. “The man… told us he passed the night in your bed. Was that a lie?”

Alexandra blushed, her gaze faltering as she recalled the warm presence beside her as she dreamed, the face that greeted her from the next pillow over that morning. “No,” came the quiet admission. “He… was there.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, until the magistrate jumped in to fill it in a pompous overtone. “Then the marriage may not be annulled, nor set aside. If you wish to file for divorce, it would take at least six months, and without corroboration of disattachment from your new… husband, your odds of success are slim.” He excused himself with nothing further than a ‘good day’ and the vicar fidgeted, clearing his throat loudly before he spoke again.

“I know you are still grieving, and that the circumstances are… unusual, to say the least. But ma’am. May I counsel you to… submit to this new marriage with an open mind and a willing heart? God has sent you this man for a reason.” With that, he bowed and left her to her thoughts.

Apparently God had a twisted sense of humor. Alexandra stood resigned and alone until Salome began to whimper for her own breakfast. She fed her daughter, and held her a while, then shook her head and went to write out a packing list. If the pages were marked with tearstains, the maids refrained from comment.

The following day, following a long night of packing and a hearty luncheon, they quit Kingston Hall. Matt alternated riding alongside the carriage bearing Alexandra and her daughter and riding along with them. Salome fussed for the first 20 miles, but settled when her mother held her, letting the rocking soothe her to sleep a while. Alexandra knew she would be hungry by the time they reached the new posting house, and decided she should be grateful for the interlude.

When they arrived at the Sontar Inn that evening, Matt booked rooms for them, and saw to the stabling of the horses. He joined her in her chamber for a quiet meal, and laid out his plans.

“You are my wife. This fact is not likely to change.” He ignored the huff she let out at this and continued. “I know this is a difficult situation, but you must be aware of my predicament as well. I will not mind if my estate is settled on your daughter someday, but we must try for an heir.” She felt her ears burn with embarrassment, but said nothing. “Now, you are grieving for your… husband, and I respect your need for time to mourn. However, I cannot wait an indeterminate amount of time for you to be ready. We will not live in civil celibacy for months or years while you adapt to the reality in which we live.

You have a month. Four weeks to get used to this. I will make no demands on you in the meantime, save two. You will share my bed. Each and every night, without fail. I can keep an eye on you, and I think we could both benefit from getting used to sleeping with someone else.”

Her eyes lifted from the gravy stain on the table to meet his gaze. “You said two things. I must share your bed and… what?” He regarded her with an inscrutable expression, taking a swallow of wine before replying in a tone that brooked no argument.

“Under no circumstances are you _ever_ to touch laudanum again. Is that clear?”

A blush swept over her tightened features, and she glared at him through a haze of tears. “I wish you wouldn’t… I wasn’t _trying_ to-“

“I said. _Is. That. Clear_?” She shivered at the frigid commanding tone, and felt a single tear fall as she nodded her assent. “Say it, Alexandra.”

“It’s clear.” The whisper she managed was barely audible but seemed to mollify him, and he bowed and bid her a short good night before retiring to his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go again. it'll shift back up to the now for a while.  
> of course, next chapter is after they settle in, as man and wife, to solve that riddle called married life. but it's anything but de-lovely just yet.


	7. Chapter 7

After months of solitude and only the soft snuffles of Salome's breathing for company, sharing a bed once more had taken some getting used to. For starters, Matthew slept naked- not a single stitch on that long lean frame- although he was usually ready for bed ahead of her or would wait til the candles were doused to slip in beside her in the dark. His dressing gown always lay across the foot, ready to be donned in a pinch.

But it was still disconcerting to feel a leg rough with hair brushing her calf or skimming her knee where her nightdress rode up in the night. And despite always starting the night facing opposite walls with a safe little chasm between them, Alexandra had woken more mornings than not with her hand on his arm or tucked along his bare side or their noses an inch apart as they rest on the same pillow. She let out a little gasp each time she awoke to find him so near, but he would merely shift a little, sleepily regarding her with that hazel gaze, and smile as though seeking to reassure her. Once he had tapped the end of her nose with a fingertip and she'd been so startled that she'd jolted back and tumbled to the floor. He hadn’t attempted the gesture again.

At the beginning of the second week of their 4-poster sequestration, she awoke alone. Her eyes had opened to an empty rumpled pillow, her arms and legs as she stretched luxuriantly encountering no masculine counterparts beneath the covers. Unsure of how she felt at the odd occurrence- though discomfited at the thought that it was not exactly relief- she instead focused on the tingle in her breasts. Climbing out of bed, she donned a dressing gown and padded to Salome's crib… only to find it empty as well.

Not giving a thought to her appearance, she tore through the halls and down the grand staircase, looking unearthly with eyes wide and wild hair streaming down her back. The flutter of the untied robe probably lent to a fantastical air, sweeping behind her like a cloak as she streaked half-dressed past servants who merely gaped at their clearly deranged new mistress.

Eventually, she skidded to a stop on the parquet in the West Gallery, having spotted her... _Matthew_ standing before a bank of floor to ceiling windows at the far end. When he turned at the sound of her arrival to bid a civil good morning, she saw Salome in one arm, propped up to sit against his chest. "I was just showing the poppet the grounds. The pram doesn't arrive from London til Friday, and it's still a bit too chill for walks out of doors, but she seems to appreciate the view."

She had not moved from the spot near the doorway, mouth hanging open like a cabinet on a loose hinge. The sight of her daughter so calm in a stranger's arms, being held by Matthew- who looked positively **natural** with an infant- completely unnerved her and her thoughts fled like frightened rabbits. He drew a deep breath and headed across the room. "Ah, but perhaps it's time for breakfast."

He surrendered her daughter to her grasp, tracing a finger over one chubby cheek when she began to whimper away from his arms. His voice was velvety soft, quiet and almost... sweet as he gently commanded the girl. "Shhh. None of that now. Be good for your mummy." Frank hazel eyes flicked to Alexandra's as he concluded, "she deserves it."

Without another word, he strode away to attend to estate business, and mother and daughter regarded one another silently a while before Alexandra collected her scattered self and carried Salome back up to the bedchamber for her breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's so short, but I wanted to get something new up for you guys.  
> next up, mail call! another letter... and news from Laura!


	8. Chapter 8

“I need something to call you.” The statement seemed out of place at the breakfast table, even if they were the only ones in attendance. The incident with the disappearing daughter had been two days prior and Alexandra was just starting to recover, falling into their routine of civil intimacy with only a small stumble. This sudden non sequitur threatened to throw her like an angry horse.

She hadn’t realized she was staring with her mouth open until he reached out and brushed the tip of her nose with his finger. She snapped it shut so quickly her teeth clicked together, but it brought her out of her daze. “What do you mean? I have a name.”

“Yes and it’s rather a formal one. I feel like a headmaster calling you up on the carpet. Doesn’t suit you anyway," he concluded into his coffee.

Putting her fork down, Alexandra wiped her murmured “I’m sure my parents would love to hear _that_ ” into her napkin and folded her hands in her lap. “Well, what do you suggest?”

He pondered for a moment, his gaze bouncing between the ceiling and her face, as though comparing the two for a connection. “I understand some of the landed gentry refer to their spouses as such, either ‘wife’ or ‘husband’, much in the way one says ‘Cook’... but I don’t like it,” he declared with a shake of his head.

Recalling the well stocked library, Alexandra tried a literary suggestion. “You might call me Mrs. Smith, like the Darcys did in _Pride & Prejudice_.”

A smile flitted over his lips like a hummingbird before he shook his head again. “Wouldn’t work, though. One, Mrs. Smith is still Catherine’s preferred form of address. Two, I’m not convinced it suits you either. Three, Elizabeth made Darcy promise to only call her Mrs. Darcy when he was completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy.”

Alexandra felt her eyes grow wide as saucers, and she fought -and failed spectacularly- to regain her composure. “You… _you_ read _Pride and Prejudice_?”

“Try not to look quite so scandalised at my literacy. Or is it my choice to indulge in a romantic novel rather than a tome of Sun Tzu that surprises you?”

She swallowed at the twinkle that appeared in his eyes, and dropped her gaze to her lap. “Read what you will, sir. I’m sorry; it’s no concern of mine.” So intent was her focus on the linen twisting in her fingers, she missed the gleam depart his eyes and the rueful half-nod he gave before he settled back in his chair.

“What did your parents call one another?”

A tender smile softened her tense demeanor as the memory flowed over her. “Her name was… Margarethe, but he called her Rethe for short.”

“And your father?” He prompted gently, when she paused. “Surely he wasn’t Ant or Tony or any such, was he?”

She let out a tiny, breath-filled laugh and shook her head before replying. “Oh no. She called him ‘Metz’.”

The puzzled look on his face drew a full giggle out of her, which she smothered down with a hand over her mouth before she explained. “She was German, and he’s a… well, _was_ a butcher, a _metzger_. She shortened the word when they first met to “Herr Metz”, and it sort of stuck after they married.” Her breath caught at the enchanted expression on his face, and she blurted out to stifle the uncomfortable feeling it gave her, “Of course that wouldn’t work for us either.”

“The exact title no- I don’t know enough about your hobbies to dub you thus- but perhaps we could just shorten your name. Alexa?” She shrugged one shoulder. “Xandra?” he ventured again.

“Hmn-mmn,” she answered in the negative, with a toss of her head for emphasis.

“Lexi?... No. Far too ‘little girl’ for a woman like you.” He was too lost in consideration to notice the rigid freeze she’d developed at the name, or the relieved expression that had passed when he’d turned it down. He didn’t need to know that was Florian’s nickname for her- nor that it was one of the only things he’d ever done that she couldn’t stand.

Matt was tapping one side of his jawline with a long digit, deep in thought. "Hmmm. What about just Alex?"

She wrinkled her nose at the idea. "Alex is a boy's name!"

The gaze that swept over her carried a knife-thin edge of heat. "No one would ever mistake _you_ for a boy. But I think Alex suits you. Unless you'd prefer Kingston, but to address a woman by a surname- especially one not reflecting her married status- is simply not done."

"Still, I think I'd prefer _that_ to... _Alex_." It was said with the same disgust as if a roach had just crawled across her shoe. "Surely if we're alone, you can address me... however you prefer." His gaze was piercing, the usual hazel of his eyes hardened to a cold amber and Alexandra tamped down the urge to squirm under the scrutiny.

"Love, if I addressed you to my preference, you would blush to the tips of your toes... but I think I'll stick with Alex. For now."

With that, he bid her a good day and strode from the dining room without another word. Alex stared after him a while, until her jaw began to ache and she realized her mouth was hanging open... again. _Tea._ She needed tea to calm her nerves and set her world aright. She knew she also needed to check on her daughter soon, but Salome had been comfortably sleeping off her morning feed when they'd headed down to breakfast, and Alex really needed a cup of tea.

The fragrant fresh brew had just reached that perfect-to-drink temperature when the door to the dining room opened to admit Catherine. Alex had not spent more than five minutes with her cantankerous sister in law since her arrival at Gallifreya- seemingly by Catherine's preference. On the final leg of the carriage ride that bore them here, she had dared to hope that as widows of a similar age they might connect; she _was_ only 6 months younger than the now dowager duchess, after all. She harbored a fancy that Catherine would welcome her and happily show her the ropes of running such a grand estate.

Instead, upon their arrival, she had presented a civil front dripping with ice- a frozen cordiality. Her once over of a just-woken Salome had produced an ear-splitting scream from the normally quiet child, and with a sniff Catherine made it clear that she was not interested in gaining new friends- or family.

Matthew knew she felt displaced, grieving for her husband and embittered over a lack of children, but he warned Alex to steer clear nonetheless. Refusing to believe Catherine was utterly irredeemable, she kept trying anyway.

Catherine hadn't noticed Alex sitting near the edge of the table- cozy by aristocratic standards, in that it only sat 12- and so freely chattered away with her early morning guest. "Oh, I'm not sure really. Some farm girl- except she's pretty far removed from a title _that_ young. And she perpetually smells of dirt; I see her mucking about in the gardens like a common hand."

"Are you sure it's not manure," asked her companion. "Perhaps she's sneaking out to the stables for a glimpse of what your brother-in-law is lacking."

Catherine let out a dainty sniff that approached a snort. "Well just because he has the _face_ of a horse and the grace of a new foal doesn't mean he's... equipped like an equine in all areas." Having skirted the sideboard when they entered, both women still failed to register Alex's presence, and fell into peals of laughter at the off-color comments.

Alexandra blushed to the roots of her hair at such innuendo... and the shame of spying tiny crescents of dark earth lurking beneath her fingernails. Matt had assured her she had the run of the house, and that included doing whatever she wished- even if they employed a servant for the express activity she sought to do. It was little comfort at the moment, but Alex also gained a bit of satisfaction from the hard, brittle sound of Catherine's mirth. While her friend brayed like a perfect ass, her sister in law produced a noise like metal filings falling into a pile. A tinkling sound, yes, but decidedly unmusical, and artificial to boot; it made Alex almost uncomfortable to hear it.

Her teacup rattled deliberately against the saucer as she stood, and she suppressed a smirk at the way the catty cohorts froze at the sound alerting them to her presence. They rotated in tandem, wearing matching expressions of disbelief- until Catherine gave herself a small shake and drew herself up haughtily. "Why, Alexandra. We didn't see you there. You should have said something... dear."

"How true." Alex furrowed her brow and tapped her chin in mock thoughtfulness. "But then, what _should_ I have said, I wonder, to such glowing dissections?"

Catherine's face drew into a pinched look of annoyed misery- as though she'd salted her tea instead of sugaring it- before smoothing into a rigid mask of polite concern. "Honestly, did they teach none of the social niceties in... that charmingly _rural_ section you come from?" She made it sound as though Alex had grown up with wheat growing in her shoes and pigs at the dinner table. Alex felt one eyebrow creep up before she drew a deep breath and flashed a gracious grin.

"Oh they did. _One should always offer guests suitable refreshments_ ," she intoned like a tutor. "In that spirit, let me point out that there's fresh milk in the pitcher... unless of course you _ladies_ prefer cream?" Catherine's expression froze tight, twin spots of red appearing at her cheeks while her friend actually let her mouth gape open in a most unladylike fashion. And Alex should know- Matthew dropped her jaw with an alarming frequency.

"Now if you'll excuse me, I must see to my daughter. Eure Mütter geht in der Stadt huren!" She delivered the epithet in a sweet conversational tone, and sauntered out of the room to check on Salome and properly dress for her day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay. so a bit longer of a piece. I combined two short sections that fit together.  
> the *next* chapter will be letters- promise- but I had to get Catherine in. hope this is going alright for you guys.


	9. Chapter 9

Alex was just coming back down the stairs, letting Salome babble in her arms, when Jenna turned up in the hall. The diminutive housekeeper had the appearance of a delicate china doll, but ruled the downstairs with a will of iron. She had two looks that accomplished nearly anything: a sweet smile so full of meringue and sunshine it was nearly impossible not to do her bidding, and a hard look with an arched eyebrow so impressively quailing it would do any governess proud.

At the moment, she was frowning over a stack of letters and lecturing a scullery maid that trailed behind her with a notebook. She spotted Alex halted on the bottom stair, and a genuine smile lit her face as she bobbed a curtsey. "Morning, ma'am. Ohhhh,” she breathed, looking at Salome. “She’s beautiful, milady.”

The candid praise of her daughter brought a smile touched with pride to Alex's lips. “Thank you Jenna. You’re too sweet.”

“Not at all, ma’am. Plain truth is all.” Remembering the girl at her elbow, Jenna dismissed her with a “we’ll finish the lists later, Cecily. Thank you” and turned back to her mistress. The bulge of letters crinkled as she clasped her tiny hands together, about to say something, when Alex spoke up.

“Was there something amiss in the post, Jenna?”

Jenna drew a deep breath, as though gauging how much to reveal. “Most of it’s just business, ma’am. Nothing to fret over. And some good news for the master- I know he’ll be pleased over it. But…” her voice trailed off with a swallow.

“Yes?” Alex prompted, when she hesitated further, distracting herself with Salome’s fist wrapping around her finger. Jenna finally looked back up at Alex- still waiting patiently for an answer- with a tiny frown between her feathery brows and ran her just-freed fingertip over a red edged envelope in the stack. “There’s a… letter from the Lowes, ma’am. I’m not sure if I should... bother him with it.”

The frown transferred to Alex's forehead. “The Lowes? Who are they? Are they neighbors?”

Jenna’s eyes went wide, but she smoothly slipped on an expression of calm and straightened up. “Actually ma’am, I just remembered something. But why don’t you take the post in to the master? I’m sure he’d be happy to see you. I can watch the little one if you’d like.” Her hands reached toward Salome, who pondered her a moment before reaching out to the housekeeper with a burble.

Alex tamped down her puzzlement at the bizarre segue and handed her daughter over, offering a now free hand for the post. Jenna handed over the bundle- minus the red edged missive, which disappeared into her apron as she carried Salome off towards the kitchens.

With a shake of her head, Alex headed off to the study. When she arrived before the heavily carved cerulean door- most of the important doors of Gallifreya were blue, she’d noticed- she paused, smoothing her free hand over her skirts and trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in the pit of her stomach. Then she turned the knob, eased the door open, and waited at the threshold.

"Matthew?" He looked up from the small mountain of paperwork on his desk to spy her hovering unsurely near the door.

Quickly schooling his face to minimize his pleasant surprise, he gestured her in. "Yes?" he replied as he set aside his quill and stood.

"Jenna brought the post up, and there's a letter for you- marked Urgent." He moved around the desk as she began to cross the room, meeting her halfway and taking the bundle from her with only a slight brush of his fingers over hers. He flicked quickly through the stack, stopping at the dove grey envelope penned with peacock blue ink and dotted with no fewer than 3 foreign postmarks. His face began to light up at the handwriting, but as he tore it open and scanned the pages, he went nearly sidereal.

"Oh, smashing!" Alex, a tad unnerved by the outburst and gleeful expression on a man she thinks belongs in the dictionary beside the word **staid,** simply asked what is. "Oh Lor will be home soon. She was supposed to be back next month, but she got the news about John and knew I would be on the way, so she was trying to arrange to meet me here. Bad weather in Genoa forced them to depart from Marseilles, and the trip is taking longer than expected. But she's finally coming!" Matthew momentarily seemed to forget his company, his position and himself as he danced a brief jig on the Aubusson carpet.

His exuberant behavior produced a shocked smile, but despite his glee, she felt a whisper of concern. "What's your sister like?" Alexandra was worried she would be another Catherine, cold and sharp and unwelcoming, and she could not survive two of them.

"Oh Lor is..." His face softened further as he drew up memories of his dear sibling, and she gasped at how young and untroubled he became with the shift. "She was great, growing up. John was being groomed for the dom from the day he was born, so Laura was doted on for a while, then foisted off on nannies. When I finally emerged, she was five and oh, how she fawned over me. I was like a little living doll she could play with.

When our parents began to travel- I must have been three or four- Laura became almost a mother to me. John had his duties, we had each other. When we got the news we'd lost them... I don't think any of us quite knew what to do. John had sentiment and emotional shows beaten out of him early on, but Laura and I... well, we missed them, obviously, but it was like distant relations passing. We'd been on our own for so long as it was- nearly a decade I think- we all ended up being just fine in our own ways."

Unsure of how to respond to so large a personal revelation, Alex chose a less charged topic. "You told me in the carriage that she never married. Why, if she’s so wonderful?" Realizing how that sounded, she buried her face in her hands a moment, flustered. “I’m sorry, I mean-“ But when she braved a peek through her fingers, he seemed wholly amused by the question, not the least bit put off.

"It’s alright. I know what you mean." She clasped her hands before her and waited for him to continue. "Lor… well, she's a bit of a bluestocking. She’s smart but quiet, not shy per se but exclusive with her company, and she adores reading. John once made a joke that the only spine to be found around Laura was on a book. But she travels, and sees the world, and has never ever allowed anyone -even me- get down on her baby brother. I think there's a maternal tigress sleeping behind those spectacles."

Alex pondered this a moment, before clearing her throat. She didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to _need_ to know this, but she couldn’t help it. "Will she... do you think she'll like me?" she asked the carpet.

Her voice was soft, almost shy, and Matthew didn’t reply right away, simply absorbing her presence a moment. She jumped when one finger caressed the underside of her jaw and tipped her face to look at him. "I think- no. I _know_ that she's going to love you."

She smiled at the pronouncement, a soft blush touching her cheeks, and nodded before curtseying and slipping from the room. "Just as I do," he concluded to the empty room. Slipping Laura's letter into his coat, he returned to his work with a sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry about the delay. the next bits will be up much quicker.  
> and yes, that letter is going to come back up later....


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the arrival of an ally, and a disastrous dinner...

Having been held up another week by inclement weather in Brighton, Laura was finally due to arrive, and it was by the grace of God it coincided with Catherine’s insisted upon dinner party to “introduce the New Mrs. Smith to the all the right people.” Alex was grateful for the potential new ally, as she would know no one save Matt and Catherine otherwise, and the current other Mrs. Smith was still being impressively frigid to her. Aside from a lament when Alex was at the same table that the dear Lowes would be unable to attend, they had not held 10 words converse in as many days.

Alex, Matt and Catherine were seated in the front drawing room tacitly ignoring each other, when a knock sounded on the door. Jenna entered followed by a young woman dressed head to toe in blue. She was tall, slim, and well-shaped, with striking features. Her chocolate brown hair was double braided and looped behind her ears in a variant of the Swiss style, and wire rimmed spectacles sat perched on her strongly defined nose. Alex noted she seemed sedate and perhaps a little shy, and her blue eyes- while a perfect complement to her sibling’s in color- lacked the warm spark that occasionally lurked in his. Still, she could be quite pretty if she changed her hair, and didn’t hide behind her glasses so much.

Then Matt stood and began to close the gap between them, and the woman launched herself into his arms with a squeal of laughter. The siblings, nearly matched in height, also wore matching expressions of relieved glee, and Alex rethought her previous assessment. As long as Miss Laura Jayne Smith smiled and let her eyes glow with that merry little twinkle, she’d be beating men off with a stick.

 Her husband swung his sister around in a few dizzying circles before setting her on her feet. He kept an arm around her shoulders as he led her over to Alex, who stood with a nervous flip in her stomach and smoothed her skirt down before offering a hand to her new sister in law. “Lor,” Matt beamed, “my wife, Lady Alexandra Kingston Smith. Alex, this is my darling sister, the Honourable Lady Laura Jayne.”

Laura took in Alex’s offered hand with a smile before waving it off with a “none of that now” and sweeping her into a hug. Alex froze a moment at the unexpected embrace, then relaxed, letting a breathless giggle escape her as she wrapped her arms back around Laura.

Pulling back a moment later, Laura exclaimed, “Oh Matty, she’s **gorgeous!** And that  hair!” A few tendrils had escaped Alex’s upsweep, and Laura tugged one gently, watching in fascination as it sprung free and recoiled. “Frankly, _anyone_ would be an improvement over Dai- uh, the other one.” She’d broken off at Matt’s quelling expression. “But you!” She exclaimed, deftly turning the topic. “You’re like a lottery win! And a daughter to boot? Oh Matt is going to spoil you rotten, you lucky girls.” Having grasped one each of Matt and Alex’s hands, Laura did a little shimmying twist and soon had them wiggling and giggling along with her.

From the corner, Catherine looked up from her embroidery and gave an audible sigh of long suffering. “Would it be so much to ask for a little decorum in this household? Or is that far too much to expect from such a… bohemian family?” 

Alex felt her face grow hot, and Matt had his mouth open as he began to turn- but Laura tugged him back to face her, and pinned Catherine with a look of her own. “Affection, dear _sister_ , is a sadly under-utilized thing in this place, and I don’t intend to stand for it. Not with such lovely new additions that I plan to keep around.” Her tone was civil, but icily sweet as she continued, “and besides, no one seems to mind the livestock lounging around the sitting rooms.” Alex bit her lip to keep from bursting into giggles again, and she felt a little quiver in Matt’s arm that she figured meant he was having a similar struggle. She didn’t dare look at him to confirm it, though.

Catherine stood stiffly and exited with a sniff, commenting as she swept to the door that at least Daisy had known how to behave in polite company. She pinned each of them with a hard glare as she said it, so it was impossible to know which of them it was directed at. 

The cryptic statement refreshed Alex’s curiosity, and she blurted out without thinking. “Who was Daisy?” She was focused on Laura for a response, and so missed the sudden blush that tipped Matt’s ears.

“Oh,” Laura said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “no one to worry your pretty little head over.” Alex and Matt swung with wide eyes under raised brows, and Laura gasped. “Oh my. That sounded condescendingly patriarchal, didn’t it?” Alex attempted to smother her giggles at the mental image of Laura sporting muttonchops and a strained waistcoat, benignly patting her on the head. Laura’s eyes twinkled again.

“Let it out! You’re with family now, my girl.” Slipping a fond arm around Alex’s waist, she tugged her close and said in a stage whisper, “now Catherine? She’s a snobbish cow who we’d gladly give away if there was a sane taker to be found. But we intend to keep _you_ and that’s all there is to it.”

* * *

 

The night of their first dinner party was an unmitigated disaster. Catherine had gone all out, inviting three dozen guests to see the new lady of Gallifreya and dissect her over chateaubriand and fish stew, and a special torte for dessert. Despite her usually penurious attitude, the only time Catherine didn't whinge over the cost of things was when it was in expense of her own personal delight.

Matthew had been seated at the head of the table, Alex on his right, a doddering earl beside her, and Laura three places down on his right. Catherine, who had arranged the seating, held court at the far end.

Over salad with nuts and a tart dressing sauce, a soup course served from an ivory porcelain tureen shaped like a curled fish, and a pre-game course of Welsh rarebit, conversation flitted on Matthew's side of the table. He tried to engage Alex when possible, and constantly sent smiles to his sister, but the occasional bursts of laughter and fleeting glances from Catherine's end had his jaw tight and his expression growing more clouded by the minute. When the chateaubriand arrived at the table, it had turned downright thunderous.

Alex had out a hand on his arm when he would have risen, pleading with him to say nothing. "You'd rather I allow her to say whatever she wishes, to treat you like this?"

“If it means keeping the peace, then _yes_ ,” she hissed back through a tight smile.

Twice during the meal he'd allowed his fork to clank down on his plate- a rudeness that earned him a glare from Catherine but did nothing to curb her. As the servants made the rounds for the main course, he had had enough.

"Catherine. You will make your excuses to our guests."

"Don't be ridiculous, Matthew. I'm not leaving my guests. And Alexandra certainly isn't used to such hostessing duties."

He rose half out of the chair, palms flat on the heavy linen cloth. "If you wish to remain in this room, _madam_ , you will remember that my wife is to be addressed as Her Grace. Her rank is higher than yours, and her quality far superior. At no time, but **especially** within my hearing, will you say anything less than favorable about her. Is that understood?"

Guests' heads swiveled as though mounted on a common string to regard first Matthew, then Catherine. The young dowager looked as though she could cheerfully strangle Matthew in plain sight of a two score audience, but she merely swallowed, raised her chin and nodded. Only that, but it seemed to mollify Matthew enough to sit back down. Turning to Alex with a smile, he suggested she try the beef. "I think you'll find it delicious." From a few yards down the table, Laura smothered her laughter with a well placed cough into her napkin.

After that, a slow chill began to settle over the table, tightening the guests into silence as though they were freezing from the inside out. By the time a cheese and fruit course was about to be served, Alex could bear no more. She excused herself and fled as quickly as decorum will allow to seclude herself in the library. She stood before the cheery hearth, taking slow breaths and trying to thaw, wondering how long it would take Matt to follow and find her.

Less than five minutes passed when she heard him enter and close the door behind him.

"We've made a complete shambles of this."

“Oh? How have _we_ done anything amiss? It was my dear sister-in-law who was at fault.”

“Even so, I've never been so embarrassed in my life.” She turned to face him, arms curled around her ribs in a protective gesture. “I may have only been a butcher's daughter, and we were only slightly elevated after we gained Kingston Hall, but that doesn't mean I lack manners.”

A yard and a half away, Matt shrugged, a casual roll of one shoulder as though brushing off a trifling concern. "You're a duchess now. My duchess, to be precise. Why do you care?"

Alex spluttered and her hands flailed a moment. "Because people will talk! Every tongue in the province will be wagging by week's end, if they haven't been already over this marriage. What excuse are we to claim for this disaster?"

"Temporary madness?" He replied with a small smile. Alex just gaped. She was never going to understand him. When she prepared for one emotion, he demonstrated another. When she compensated for one reaction, he unbalanced her with its opposite.

"Ours or Catherine's? Because either is going to be bloody unlikely. Although your behavior regarding me could certainly pass for supporting evidence." His grin was widening, hands clasped behind his back like a child hoping to restrain himself. "Why are you so amused?"

"I like your temper," he stated simply before tipping his head a few inches to one side to regard her. "I think this is the first time I've seen any true signs of it."

"Well... perhaps I wasn't irritated with you before."

His face sobered a fraction as he straightened and leaned in. "Or perhaps you were taking too much laudanum to care."

Alex stiffened for a moment, then strode up to him, taking care to leave a foot of space between. She tilted her head back to look at him. _Lord, I wish he weren't so tall_ , she thought before poking him firmly in the chest with one finger. "I would appreciate it, Matthew," she began with a careful enunciation, so he cannot mistake her meaning, "if you would stop mentioning that."

His smile only returned as he reached down, wrapped his hand around her finger and raised it a few inches upward. Trapped as it is by his impossibly long fingers, he pressed a kiss to the tip. Taking advantage of the momentary stun caused by the action, he leant forward and pressed a small kiss to her nose. It crinkled into an adorable scrunch just before a sound issued from the door.

Sliding her gaze in that direction she spotted at least a half dozen female guests, each sporting varied expressions, lingering in the now open doorframe. "Oh great. We've just given them something _else_ to talk about," she whispered in a low hiss.

He turned to glance over his shoulder, smile widening as he rotated back. "Then, my dear, shall we continue?" In full view of the audience, he bent his head and kissed her lightly on the lips. It was the first time he had ever done so. She went stiff at the realization that he wants pretense, a masquerade. No one in the county was to know of the circumstances of their "whirlwind courtship", and he clearly wanted the world to think they are a happily married couple in love.

His hands came to rest on her shoulders, and he drew her in slowly, allowing her to pull away if she wanted. But dear heavens, this felt nice. To simply be held, even for a moment, to feel the warmth of another against her. She briefly pondered if this is why they seek one another out in the night, unconsciously finding each other to not be alone.

All thought fled as she gasped a little, and he took the opening to deepen the kiss. His tongue was soft, bearing rich flavors and a trace of wine... and a sweetness she cannot attribute to anything they'd eaten. The way it slid and probed in her mouth, tasting, testing, before tangling with hers was enough to make her forget they were under observation, that they were merely acting like performers in a show.

When he finally released her, she bent her head, allowing a few loose curls to curtain her as she sought to regain her composure- and tamp down the odd sense of loss she'd felt when they parted. Her heart was beating hard and fast, and her breath held tight in her chest. She risked a glance up at him, only to find his smile vanished. In its place was that intent, piercing gaze of his. She didn't know what to say, and as the moments slipped by, so went the opportunity.

Covering by stealing a look at the door, she found all their guests had left. In defiance of her upbringing and her new station, she disappeared as well, declining the duty of hostessing to flee to their bedroom. She checked on Salome, relieving the maid they'd left to watch her, and gathered her sleeping daughter up in her arms. She sat for a long while, rocking softly, with the fingers of one hand pressed to her tingling lips.

Eventually the need to rest overcame her, and she laid Salome back down with a kiss. Easing out of her black and green gown (Matt had insisted on infusing her wardrobe with pops of color, until she agreed to move to light mourning), Alex laid it over a chair back and slipped into bed. She got annoyed at herself when she realized she was waiting for Matt to join her, and allowed a restless sleep to overtake her, curled around his pillow in the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry sorry sorry about the delay. I'll have another chapter up for you tomorrow to make up for it.


	11. Chapter 11

_Dearest Alexandra,_

_My feelings for you are so big, so new that I am finding them somewhat incomprehensible and nearly indescribable. I have nothing in my life with which to compare them, so all I am left with are miserably futile attempts to quantify what I feel. To that end, metaphor and analogy are the only pitiful tools I have at my disposal to sculpt my responses._

_I was adrift in an endless ocean, sunburned and thirsty and not daring to hope I would survive. Then I was washed upon the shore of your oasis and found something different. No longer adrift, alone, I found a place of life and color, shelter and safety._

After the disastrous dinner and its surprising aftermath, Alex began to feel her nerves again.

For seven days she had gone to bed alone, only to awaken the same way; an indentation on his pillow (since he'd stopped sharing hers) and a faint trace of cologne were the only proof he'd been in the room at all. Her sleep was tense and heavy as a lead weight chain… unless she knew he was there. No nightmares haunted her, and she had stopped dreaming of Florian's face days ago- but she somehow knew the shift in her dreams was the effect of his presence beside her.

The days were a little easier to manage. A chill settling in as November loomed kept everyone indoors, but the stark wild beauty that emerged in autumn's stead was breathtaking. Alex sat in the windowseat for a few hours each day with a sketchbook and pencils, committing the grey world to a paper memory. Laura walked with her arm in arm through the house's galleries, pointing out interesting artifacts and sharing amusing (and occasionally fictitious) anecdotes about Smith ancestors. Jenna was authoritative but sweet going over household accounts. Catherine ignored her whenever present- though Alex found the woman so unpleasant her constant snubs were more a comfort than a bother.

And then there was Matt. In the week that had passed, Matt had left her alone. He dealt with a myriad of pressing business matters, and took Salome for walks, and attended family meals, chatting amiably with Laura and glaring Catherine into silence. He sometimes relieved Alex of his sister and the Smith siblings would wander off together or seclude themselves in Matt's study, laughter seeping through the closed blue door. But with her, he was only marginally present, reserved and withdrawn away, and she was stunned that it bothered her.

She would be wise to be grateful for the return of the aloof and contained Mr. Smith, and not wonder where her other husband had gone to. But her heart would not hear reason when she saw his face around his sister, nor ignore the squeeze she felt when her daughter smiled in his arms.

There remained but one week in her month, and she was trying to counsel herself that it would be better if she simply gave herself to him, like a good wife. Once the deed was done, it need not be repeated more than a few times a month. Alex knew she could survive it, but she felt a strange tug of war as to her feelings.

Part of her wanted to demand more time, further limitations, perhaps a timetable for increasing intimacy slowly. She was still grieving (although the pain took up a little less of her thoughts each day), and despite the inroads Matt had made in the fortnight preceding, he was still almost a stranger to her. But he'd been quite fair about it all, and nervous though she was, she had to admit his conduct had been above board and beyond reproach. He'd kept his word and she was obliged to keep hers.

Part of her wanted to submit, to go and end this awkward limbo in which they hung. His kiss had been pleasant enough and he didn't seem the sort to paw and bruise. But she did not have a submissive nature, not truly. She curtailed her natural frankness around others, and during her first round at love- an arrogantly attractive apprentice named Ralph- she had trimmed and filed and sanded down so many of her "rough edges" to please him that she'd felt raw. It had almost been a relief when he'd taken up with a divorced aristocrat and broken her heart.

Florian had been different. He liked her hair, but said he preferred it tamed in company, so she wore it up- even in bed. He had not minded her responsiveness to their lovemaking, although his comments often set her so ill at ease she subdued her more passionate side to better suit his even temper. He had said once he didn't quite know what to do with her, and a week later he'd departed to join his regiment. It was only when his letters began to arrive that she'd let herself open up, blossoming like a flower in sunshine, allowing herself to love and be loved with only minor reservations.

And now she was with Matt, this perplexing enigma of a man, who moved too well with those long lanky limbs, and could discomfit her with a look, and made her heart tumble with a gentle kiss. He was her husband, but this marriage was not of her making- or even her conscious participation. Yet it was binding, and that was what chafed like a fetter at her ankle. Despite wish or will, Matthew was her husband and would be until he... well, one of them died.

Whenever the thought hit her, she was wont to end it with an  _'until he died'_ rather than an inclusively vague ' _til death do us part'._   It was not a death wish. She bore him no true ill. But in her experiences with love, Alexandra had gotten used to being the one left behind.


	12. Chapter 12

It had been a week.

For the past seven days he had tried burying himself in managing the estate- a noble endeavor given how smoothly John had left Gallifreya running. When work failed to provide ample distraction, Laura sought out his company, or he would pick up Salome and walk through the house to stretch his legs. Jenna brought him the post or a few fresh biscuits, and he had filled a small notebook with attempts at bad poetry and insults for Catherine.

But when left with hours to fill at night, the consideration of drowning his sorrows held no appeal. For starters, Matt had always been more apt to binge on sweet things: three lumps of sugar in his tea, trifles for breakfast, hot chocolate with cinnamon and whipped cream. Laura had always marveled that a boy who tended to drench things in syrup and jam should have such a nice smile; to the perplexity of the local dentist, there had not been a rot to be found his entire childhood.

Beyond that, he had never understood men's need to overindulge in drink. He didn't like the loss of control, the impairment of decision making, the fuzzy head and wicked hangovers that could follow. He’d had a glass of champagne at John’s wedding, the odd few swallows at birthdays, an occasional half glass of wine with an exceptional course. And a measure of brandy or whisky was more than enough to steady his nerves. But claret and port were insipid, he couldn’t stand rum, wouldn’t tolerate sherry, and a pint of even the finest black or bitters held no charms. Besides, Alex was so intoxicating, Matt barely trusted himself around her sober.

Each night for the past week he read until the words swam before his eyes, assuring Alex wouldn't be awake when he joined her. He took his pillow and slept on the nearby fainting couch, or seated in one of the wingback chairs near the fireplace, feet on a low stool as he watched over his sleeping wife. In the morning, he would dress carefully, quietly, pressing a kiss to an often slumbering Salome’s cheek and lingering to fix Alex’s form in his mind, the tranquil beauty her face held in repose before he left for his day.

Lord, but he missed her. He had _loved_ those nights beside her, the torturous delight of waking up to her pressed to his side, the few curls that always escaped to tickle his cheek. If things had been different between them, he’d have curled himself around her and never let go.

It was a damnably unfashionable truth, but Matthew Smith was in love with his wife. He loved her to distraction, and with a single kiss - just beyond chaste by societal standards - she had nearly undone him; he now counted her kisses as another sweet thing he craved. She was not the first woman he'd ever been with, but he found the thought of making love to her a nerve-wracking thrill. And by no means was she the first woman he'd kissed. The unofficial honor of that went to Laura, indulging his curiosity at age 7. The official and more socially acceptable truth was that his first kiss had been with Daisy.

Ah, Daisy. Daisy was a special case. His first in a few milestones, he’d cared for the brunette beauty, and been devastated by what she’d done, but love it had not been; he knew that now. Now he understood that love was the consuming emotion he felt for Alex. He loved her so whole heartedly... but it often seemed a yellow tulip love, from what he recalled of Laura’s _The Language of Flowers_. She had wrapped herself in grief like the most impenetrable shirt of mail, and all for a man who didn’t deserve it.

Shaking himself out of his musings with a sigh, Matthew was about to return to work when he heard a commotion, a flurry of footfalls racing past in the corridor. Something was not right.

He abandoned his ledgers and poked his head out to see what he could see. The distinctive blue material of the tails of maid's uniforms was just visible down one end of the hall, indicating the recent presence of at least two servants hightailing it around the bend. Hearing new footfalls, Matt turned and saw Jenna come tearing around the corner at the opposite end; he stalled her with a hand before she could disappear. "Jenna, what--?"

“Fire. Kitchen. Your wife.” And with that, sped off the way she’d been headed, this time with Matt apace beside her. She could run furiously fast when she had to, but Matt's long legs soon threatened to leave her behind- until he halted, scooped her up and ran with her tucked beneath one arm. They arrived at the kitchen in record time, and Matt returned her to her feet in time to push the door open.

The sight that greeted them- what little could be seen through the heavy black smoke- was decidedly startling. Chatter and coughing was issuing through the haze, as every door and window thrown open and a cluster of 5 footmen and maids waved cloths and sheetpans to clear the air.

Alex stood to the left of the rear stove- still belching smoke and an acrid burnt smell- with a magnificent frown on her face. She hadn’t spotted Matt yet, because she suddenly unleashed a torrent of blistering German invectives at the hapless appliance and kicked the door shut with her foot. Wincing and hopping away a short distance, she went back and yanked the door open again so it could continue to air.

Finally alerted to Matt’s presence by the laughter she heard ringing through the smoke, she wandered through the madness to find him standing beside a bewildered Jenna, holding his sides and choking on a blend of smoke and laughter. Realizing words were beyond the current ken of her employer, Jenna spoke up, requesting an explanation for the strange scene.

Sending a few errant curls out of her eyes with an exasperated puff, Alex began. "Ugh! Catherine is such a skinflint, she had the rear flu blocked! And didn’t tell anyone, so I decided to bake a strudel for dessert and nearly burnt the damn block down!” She went back to muttering in ominous German, and a still chuckling Matt led her through the rear door to the relative safety of the garden.

It was rather chilly out in the open air, a bracing cleanliness that whisked the smoke out of their lungs and left them smarting with each breath. Alex's anger began to ebb, and with it the warmth generated by a good head of steam. Noticing her shiver, Matt swept off his jacket and bundled her into the thick wool, keeping her in his arms a moment longer than strictly necessary.

He decided it must have been a trick of the light that she didn't seem to mind.

"Are you alright?"

Rolling her eyes, Alex sighed and nodded, strolling a few feet toward the garden wall. "I'm fine. Just... annoyed. How can she do something so foolish? It's reckless! And all for the sake of saving a few pounds on firewood and coal?"

Matt scratched his cheek absently. "About that. Jenna's been a helpful spy, but I'm still finding areas where Catherine tried to trim corners."

"Gallifreya is a huge estate! And profitable, by all appearances. What can it possibly matter? What good does it do to shut up part of the house just so she can dismiss servants who could use the work? She'd work the rest to death covering the difference until they either dropped or quit. It isn't right." She drew a deep breath to calm herself, then frowned as a new inquiry arose. "You don't... Do you think John could've put her up to it?"

Matt dismissed the suggestion with a fervent shake of his head. "John was every inch a Duke, but he didn't pinch pennies. He was raised to respect the people who worked for him, especially those from whom he profited. Catherine on the other hand comes from a family of famously repressed misers. Rumour has it her grandmother was so bad, she buried her husband under the orchard and served day old mutton stew to the mourners."

A small smile twitched in the corner of Alex's mouth. "Well, I'll say this for Catherine. She doesn't seem to mind spending when it's something _she_ really wants."

HIs face all seriousness, Matt replied, "Good thing too. Who knows _what_ we'd find at the breakfast table otherwise? Trifle of potato peelings? Oyster shell gravy?" He let out a dramatic shudder and Alex smothered a giggle in her fist. Matt caught it up in his hand and tutted at her. "Ah, ah. None of that. I shall keep reciting culinary atrocities until you laugh without reserve."

She waved her free hand to ward off his silly onslaught as another mirthful sound escaped her. "That won't be necessary. I shudder to think what your mind could come up with."

A twinkle glowed in his eyes as he regarded her. "Trifle of potato skins did it for me, but alright. If you insist." The giggles that sprang up between them soon stilled as they both realized Matt still retained her hand in his. They drew a simultaneous breath, then let out breathless chuckles at the coincidence.

"We should probably..." Alex trailed off.

"Go back in now," Matt finished. But neither made a move to head back inside. They simply stood, taking the measure of one another, misty breath mingling in the frosty air.

"Alex?" Matt spoke again, a fond look on his face.

"Yes?"

"I, uh... that is, if you don't mind, I think I'll join you tonight. After dinner."

His meaning clear, she swallowed, her pulse skittering as his thumb stroked a tender path across her knuckles. That same small smile crept into the corner of her mouth before she made her answer. "I think I'd like that."

An answering grin lit his face as he bent gallantly to kiss her hand, keeping it comfortably within his own as they walked back to the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well I meant to post this earlier but life has been throwing up roadblocks and I've been super busy. plus, I'd been waffling over whether to include the week from Matt's POV. hope you like it.  
> buckle up, though. next chapter- the month is at an end.


	13. Chapter 13

Her month had come to an end. 30 days had passed with interminable speed, too quick and too slow at the same time. Alex wasn’t ready. She couldn’t be ready yet.

They were both glad to have resumed sleeping together. Matt was more cheerful, Alex was sleeping more peacefully, and her heart still fluttered at the memory of them once more waking up tangled in the mornings. But sharing a bed was quite different from... _sharing a bed_ and Alex's nerves were battered with the constant swing from anxiety to anticipation over the change.

Salome was not there to serve as a distraction... or a buffer. Jenna had eagerly taken her off for the night, cuddling the little girl close and babbling about the fun they were going to have. Laura refused to even have a cup of tea with her. The decision of what to wear had been long ago dealt with, although her stomach still flipped at the implications of her choice. Naked had been right out, black unacceptable (even _she_ found the idea somewhat distasteful), and his nightshirt too intimate- despite what she knew would transpire between them. And now, ironically, there was nothing left to do but wait.

She'd stared at the same three pages of a book until the lines blurred. Her hair had been brushed until she was worried it might go straight, and she'd put it back to keep her hands off it. The bundle of letters gave off a siren call that she fought to ignore. She knew to read them (or be caught out doing so) would only set the evening off on a bad foot, but it was as though unbinding them had unleashed some trapped spirit within the pages. Still, she had wanted the ribbon, desperate for some small tether to anchor her in this storm of emotion.

A quiet knock brought her back to the present, and she drew a deep breath, exhaling it in a single word: "enter."

When he arrived at a space before the bed, barefoot in black riding pants and a royal blue dressing gown open to her gaze, her breath caught in her throat. Aware of the skip and speed her heart did at the sight of him, her gaze dropped to trace the patterns in the carpet, and so she missed the slow perusal he gave her. Bare toes curled into the rug, endearing and sweet where they peeped out from her green nightgown. The short cap sleeves showed off the honeyed length of her arms, and revealed the hollows above her collarbones. A faint shadow of cleavage was visible over the floral embroidered neckline. Her hair was gathered at the nape in a pale green ribbon, so like the color of new leaves and jade that he thought it might match her eyes- but she’d have to look at him for him to be sure. A few errant curls had sprung forward to caress her cheeks and rest on her forehead and one long silky tendril trailed in the join of her shoulder and the delicate curve of her neck.

Matt barely suppressed a sigh. _She is so lovely._ Moving slowly, he closed the gap between them, leaving less than a foot of space as he stood before her. She still didn't bring her eyes to meet his, but he watched her carefully as he reached up a hand and tugged on one end of the ribbon. She was holding her breath, and he saw the tension making her go rigid beneath his gaze. The ribbon came undone, and he drew the strip of satin slowly over the top of her shoulder as her curls came tumbling down.

“I really do love your hair,” he whispered, willing her to relax, to look at him. “In fact... I think it might be magic.” One side of her mouth slid up in a half smile, and her eyes flicked to his. It lasted a moment but he saw the fear, the worry- and something else he couldn’t quite place. “Alex, it’s alright. I’m not going to ravish you.”

_That might be easier,_ she thought- only to hear his low rumble of laughter and realize she’d spoken aloud. He leaned in and she held her breath again when she realized he was about to kiss her.

Their only kiss to this point had been the night of the disastrous dinner party, but the first touch of his lips to hers was nothing but a gentle pressure. He made no demands in it, asked nothing at all. It was a few long moments before he dared to touch her, his lips falling away from hers. His hands came up to cradle her face as though she were crafted of the finest porcelain. The pads of his thumbs stroked the rounded apples of her cheeks as her chin nestled in the hollow between his palms. A sigh of utter contentment escaped into the air between them and Alex’s eyes went wide as she realized it had come from him.

One large hand slid down one side of her neck and he moved his mouth down the opposite, nuzzling her jaw, licking a sensitive spot beneath her ear, dotting the column of her throat with a line of tender fleeting kisses. This time the sigh was hers.

She became aware of a pressure behind her knees and realized he was setting her on the bed’s edge. She watched him through a half-hooded gaze as he sank to his knees before her. His eyes remained locked on hers as he took hold of one foot, cradling it in the palm of his hand to set it up on the carved bedframe. Gathering the hem of her nightgown, he drew it slowly up to her knee, folding the material back to keep it out of his way, breaking eye contact as he lowered his head.

The first kiss was on the top of her foot, a soft warm press. The second arrived on the curve of her ankle. He licked a gentle stripe behind her calf muscle, and pressed parted lips to the hollow on the side of her knee. Alex’s eyes slid closed and her head fell back with a rolling sigh. Of their own volition, her fingers slid into the silken strands of his hair, and he let out a purr against her skin as her nails grazed his scalp. The fullness of her lower lip found itself between her teeth as she tried to bite back a groan.

Then his lips were gone and he straightened before her, shedding his dressing gown to puddle on the floor. The material of the coverlet was soft against her palms as she slid them back to bear her weight. He leaned, inclining towards her but keeping his feet on the floor, and she tipped her chin up to defiantly meet his gaze as his hands braced themselves beside hers.

She gasped at the startling intensity in his eyes, but behind the lust-blown pupils, Alex spotted tenderness, admiration... even something that looked almost like lo-

Then his teeth grazed over her earlobe and her brain stopped forming coherent thought. His lips were warm against her skin, one arm firm around her waist, the fingers of his other hand tangling in her hair as he cradled her head. He lowered her gently to the mattress, pliant and soft in his hold. One leg nestled between hers as he balanced his weight on his hands and one knee above her.

Her breath escaped in little panting gasps as the deliciously long fingers of one hand feathered over the bare skin of her arm and ghosted across her collarbone. Her eyes fluttered closed as his mouth claimed hers again, trapping a tiny whimper behind her lips. Then the hand trailing over her body came to rest on the swell of a breast, and at the gentle squeeze he gave the firm globe, Alex gasped.

His tongue swept in and the taste of him exploded in her mouth as he probed and teased and twined his tongue with hers. Her palms skimmed over the smooth skin of his back and shoulders, feeling the muscles bunch and contract as he still hovered above her. 

Delicate hands gripped his hips, pushing with a soft insistence until he gave in and moved. His other knee now pressed against the inside of hers, shifting her leg out to the side as her hands exerted further to pull his hips flush against hers. The kiss broke for a moment as Alex tipped her head back into the mattress, gasping harshly at the electrifying contact. Matt took the opening to press kisses under her chin and run the tip of his tongue over the small mole that resided beneath her jaw- pleased to learn the minor change in topography did nothing to diminish the taste of her skin.

The kisses continued, soft and warm, over her cheek, the arch of her brow, the tip of her nose, before being welcomed back at her mouth. The palm kneading at her breast flattened and rotated briefly, teasing the nipple to a taut peak beneath the fabric of her nightgown. Long talented fingers plucked at the now hardened nub, while her own digits curled tightly into the fabric of his waistband at the tendrils of heat unfurling low in her belly. When his hand once again took possession of her breast and squeezed, she arched against him, feeling a shuddering thrill at each point their bodies met.

Eventually the sensations overwhelmed her, flooding her mind with conflicting data. The hand at her breast was too large, the hips cradled by her own too narrow, the scent of him not right. Her eyes snapped open as the thought careened into her consciousness: _he isn’t Florian._ He was being impossibly sweet and tender with her, and in the back of her mind resided a certainty that he would never hurt her. But the warmth pooling in the pit of her stomach still felt like a betrayal, and she bolted backwards out of his grasp with a startled cry.

She curled in on herself, drawing her knees to her chest and burying her head in the space inside her arms as she began to sob. At the touch of his hand on her bared shoulder, she flinched but refused to look up.

His deep sigh reverberated like distant thunder in the quiet room, and the mattress shifted as he settled his feet back on the floor. She heard a rustle of fabric as he collected his dressing gown, the click of the lock as he disappeared into the hall. Her pounding heart ticked off the long moments that stretched and twisted until she heard the latch disengage again. Still tightly folded, she could not bring herself to look at him, and did not trust her voice to be steady enough to tell him to please leave her.

A whimper stole out as the mattress dipped again- but the embrace that encircled her belonged to the other Smith. Laura wrapped her in her arms like a mother, murmuring soothing nonsense into her hair and rocking Alex as she wept.

Late in the night she finally stopped, wrung out as a dishrag and feeling about as substantial. Laura stepped out and returned with a glass of brandy. She tucked her distraught sister-in-law in once the contents of the glass were drained, promising to check on her in the morning.

Matt did not return, though she waited, anxiously watching the hours tick by on the mantel clock. She was still pondering whether she was anxious for him to return or fretting that he would stay away when she tumbled into a restless dreamless sleep.

As the first threads of dawn stole into the room, Alex awoke miserable, in a cold bed, cheeks stiff with the tight tracks of dried tears she had shed in the darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *runs and hides in her pillow fort* I'm sorry! please don't hate me. the first night really *was* planned out this way.  
> *pops out a second* but if it makes it any better... it's going to get better. (for a little while, anyway.)


	14. Chapter 14

Alex felt miserable. The mantelclock seemed reliable proof that she had only slept a few hours, yet she knew she couldn't go back to sleep now if she tried. Exhausted as she'd been when she'd left, Laura would still be abed- and under the assumption that Alex would be resting too, would see no reason to rise early just to check on her.

Salome was still in Jenna's charge, and would remain there until she demanded a feeding or Jenna was called by pressing household business. But there were feeding bottles aplenty on hand, and fresh milk from the cows every morning, and Gallifreya was a well-run estate with a legion of servants under Jenna's well-done tutelage- each of whom adored her daughter and would gladly jump to help out. So, short of going and demanding her back, there was no reason Salome would be returned to Alex until lunchtime at the earliest.

She lacked the proper focus to read, knit, paint, sketch, or sew, and knew she couldn't sit still long enough to do any of them anyway. It was too cold -and really far too early in the morning- to garden, even if there was nothing to do there besides smell the few remaining blooms. She didn't want company, and was still skittish after the events of the previous week, so a visit to the kitchens was out. But staying in this room was going to drive her spare, so Alex resolutely threw the covers off and scrambled to the wardrobe.

Yanking the nightgown over her head, she dug into the bottom drawer and produced a 'secret' outfit- the sort "proper young ladies" probably always dreamed of wearing but never did. She donned a pair of wool jodhpurs she wore to ride, thickly knit socks, a linen vest which provided feminine support when fastened up but negated the need for a corset, a long sleeved undershirt and a heavy blue longshoreman's sweater she'd purchased on a trip to Bath some years past. In no mood to fiddle with bootlaces, a pair of finely polished Hessians completed it instead. Not the most fashionable of ensembles, but she was warm, comfortable and at liberty in her movements, and if anyone dared question it... well, she was a duchess now and to hell with their opinion.

Realizing it would be cold outside, she thought about nicking one of the greatcoats from Matt's chest, but decided against it; the smell of the fabric would be... and it would nearly trail the ground on her anyway.

Stopping to pin her curls up into a taming twist and grab a fur-lined cloak, she snuck down the stairs and out the front door. The virgin day was frigid, pale, and blanketed in a shroud of early fog. Tugging her hood up and sparing only a moment's concern for the sanity of her action, Alex took off towards the moors, careful to try and keep the house at her back. The fog would lift as the day wore on, but she'd hate to get lost in the blankness just the same. At least this way, if she were careful, she could simply do an about face and return.

Waiting until her feet seemed content to walk in a straight line, Alex let her mind wander over the previous night, and how she could possibly fix it. (The fact that she _wanted_ to and the driving motivations of said desired action were left unexamined.)

Fact one: Matt had been kind, tender, generous and patient- both last night and in general. Fact two: even in her grief, she was lonely. Fact three: before she'd pulled away, she had felt herself begin to respond to his caresses and closeness- though likely as a combination of the first two facts.

 _Now now, Alex- be fair,_ her mind scolded. _I am being fair,_ she insisted to herself. _No, you're not. It wasn't loneliness or gratitude or some sense of wifely duty. You were feeling passion, for your husband, who was taking implicit care with you and_ still _managed to spark something within._

 _Florian sparked something in me too,_ she countered. _Florian knew what he was doing- no doubt,_ her mind began, _and y_ _our pleasure occurred but it was secondary, even incidental, to his. He didn't take the time to truly care for you. Matt was focusing on you, going slow, making sure **you** were comfortable- and you responded to it._

_Now who's not being fair?  Florian loved me. I know he did._

_How?_ Her traitorous brain queried. _What?_ thought Alex. _How do you know Florian loved you? You barely knew each other and he was hardly around to show it, anyway._

Angered by this mental disloyalty, Alex halted in her tracks, heedless to the cold, oblivious to her surroundings. _I know because he wrote me! Because of what he wrote me. Amazingly beautiful things he must have been too afraid to say to me. Things he didn't know he felt until we were apart. Things that... made me fall in love with him too._ That's _how we fell in love._ That's _what matters,_ she concluded with a vicious satisfaction.

Her mind went blessedly silent, and Alex drew a deep breath at the emotions churning in her stomach at the bizarre internal debate. What on earth was she doing? "I'm arguing with myself in the middle of a whited out nowhere over whether my dead husband loved me." She shook her head at how strange that sentence sounded, especially spoken aloud, and started walking again.

A short time later, she came to the simultaneous realizations of how to try fixing her relationship with Matthew _and_ that she was getting a chill in spite of her layers, and was just about to turn back when a strange sound reached her ears. At first, it sounded like a faint heartbeat, a soft rhythmic pounding. But as it grew louder, she realized it was coming closer, and it was no heartbeat.

Horses' hooves thudding on the cold packed earth were coming toward her- and fast. Was it a runaway? Did it bear a lost rider? Were they fleeing from something? She squinted against the bright white wall, trying to peer through the fog for answers. Then comprehension dawned- if she couldn't see the horse, the horse and any rider it bore couldn't see her.

Gathering her cloak tight about her, she wheeled and started to run back the way she'd come. The hoofbeats were growing steadily closer, with no signs of slowing; Alex fancied she could feel the ground quaking underfoot as she fled.

She risked a glance back to see and felt her world jerk violently as the toe of her boot caught on something. In a strange slowed motion she fell, noting each curl that flew by as she turned her head forward, the flex of each muscle in her arms as they reached up to touch the ground. Then she connected with a sickening thud that drove the oxygen from her lungs, and time caught up with the world.

The horse burst into her field of vision. Ignoring the screaming of her ankle, Alex curled into the tightest ball she could manage, hoping to avoid being trampled. The earth beneath her trembled. Through the hazy buzz of a racing pulse, noises reached her ears: the masculine yell of a loud "whoa", a horse whinnying in violent protest, the groan of a leather saddle, a final _whump_ as hooves touched down.

The rider swung down and was at her side in an instant, one hand gripping her shoulder to force her around. "What the hell did you think you were do-- Alex?!" Matt's eyes opened so wide as he saw her face that there was white visible clean around the hazel rings. "Oh my god, are you alright? What are you doing out here?" His hands moved gently but urgently, touching her face, stroking back a curl from her forehead, easing her cloak open to check her for injuries. Whereupon his eyes widened a second time. "And what on earth are you wearing? ... Not that I'm complaining, mind you, but- never mind." He swallowed something down as he felt along the sides of her ribs, politely avoiding comment at the obvious lack of a corset.

She pushed up to prop herself on her elbows, watching him. "What were _you_ doing out here? So early, I mean," Alex asked, deflecting the question. Matt paused in his examination, hands resting on her hips, and looked at her. His expression was at once inscrutable and wide open, as though he were revealing everything but she didn't know how to decipher it. And then his gaze faltered and his hands slid to the outsides of her wool-clad thighs.

"Riding helps me think. I never ride too emotionally- it's dangerous for the horse and for me- but the rush of the air on your face, the sound of hooves on the earth like a second heartbeat... it helps. It-" Whatever else he'd been about to say was lost at the sharp hiss she gave when he grazed her ankle. Probing it softly through the tight leather, he frowned. Bracing one palm against the ball of her foot and the other hand over the top of the joint, he flexed it gently against her winces of pain, carefully testing the range of movement.

"It's probably just a bad sprain, but we need to get you back to the house. Can you put your arm around my neck?" Alex looked at him, puzzled at the request. "It's not necessary, but it would make scooping you up easier."

"Oh," she replied softly, as she wound her arms around his neck. Threading one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her shoulders, Matt pulled her to him, balanced a moment to get a foot on the ground, then surged up to stand. The effortlessness of the movement left Alex a little breathless, and she merely stared as he carried her to where Theta was calmly munching grass. One bootclad foot swept the ground in front of her front legs, and the horse dropped to its knees. Matt threw one long limb over its back, clicked his tongue twice, held her tight as Theta jumped to all fours again, then settled her across his lap while his feet found the stirrups.

Her arms had slipped down from his neck so he bundled her cloak about her, then arranged the sides of his greatcoat to cover her over again. When he reached for the reins with his free hand, he noticed her intense gaze.

"I'm sorry. Would you rather ride astride?" Alex blinked, then shook her head. Matt's encircling arm tightened about the waist, and she rested her head against his shoulder as they headed for home. She tried not to focus on the press of his cheek on her forehead, the feel of his thigh muscles bunching and flexing beneath her as he controlled the horse. She tried not to notice the clean scent of him under the expensive tweed of the coat. She tried not to let herself imagine the way those long, cool fingers looked grasping the supple leather of the reins.

Too soon they reached the house. Matt drew up and tossed the reins to a waiting stableboy, who rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with a fist as Matt slid down and walked around to gather Alex. Her arms went around his neck without thought as he strode into the house, through the hall, up the stairs and into their room without ever letting her go. Once he'd deposited her into a chair by the fire, he shed his greatcoat and slipped into the connecting washroom.

Returning a few minutes later, he set his collection down on the floor and turned to Alex. He divested her of her cloak, knelt down and eased off first one boot, then the other. She gritted her teeth against the whimper that threatened, swallowing it back at the sight of Matt's apologetic face. He peeled off the heavy sock from her injured foot, then set the limb in the ewer of cold water he'd brought with him. Alex yelped at the frigid bath and tried to jerk her foot out, but Matt's hand braced on the top of her knee stopped her.

"I know it's cold but it'll help. Promise." She submitted silently, still unsure of what to say in the face of this tender care, still reeling from being swept off her feet and carried around as though she were a light, delicate thing and not a woman of four and thirty who still bore curves from pregnancy.

A quarter hour later, having rung for tea and easing Alex out of her heavy sweater, Matt declared her foot sufficiently soaked and dried it gently with a clean length of toweling. He folded the toweling over, set it on the footstool, then rested Alex's heel on the soft material. Uncapping a bottle of liniment, he began to work it into the abused joint, massaging the soreness and tension as he did. Finally, he wrapped it in a clean strip of bandage- tight enough to support the joint as it healed and help with swelling, but not so tight as to be uncomfortable- and pressed a soft kiss to the skin just above the bandage. "There. How's that feel?"

Relaxed from the works of his hands, dazed by the affectionate attention, and exhausted from the ordeal, Alex blinked dumbly and gave a mute nod. Matt smiled, a small but contented smile, and said, "Let's get you into bed. You need to rest- Doctor's orders." Without waiting for a reply, he stood and swept her up in his arms, crossed the few yards to the bed and deposited her beneath the covers. He had just finished tucking the covers around her when a soft knock sounded on the door. A maid entered with a tea tray, who laid it across the empty side of the bed and departed with a quick bob and curtsey.

Matt perched on the edge and reached for the teapot. "Shall I pour?" Her hand on his arm halted the motion, and he looked at Alex expectantly. The twinkle in his eye dimmed when he saw the look on her face. "Alex, what's wrong?" he asked as he began to reach for her. She tensed at the movement and he stopped, straightening away from her with a flat expression. "I see. I'm sorry if... my continued presence is bothering you."

Alex drew a deep breath, fidgeting with the near edge of the coverlet as she spoke. "It's not that. You've been... quite kind. And the way you care for me is... I'm just not used to... being with someone," she finished lamely. "But I'm trying."

She risked a glance at him, and caught the resigned nod he gave before he stood. "Well, I should still... let you rest. I'll check on you later. Can I... that is, is there anything I can do before I go?"

Her mouth was open before she realized, but she closed it again without speaking. "What is it?" He queried softly. Her eyes flicked to her dressing table, then back to her fingers still mangling the blanket's edge. She shook her head. "Nothing."

She heard a sigh, his footsteps crossing the carpet, the soft slide of a drawer opening- then nothing. Looking over, she saw him standing stock still, fingers still on the pull, staring into the top drawer of the vanity with an unfathomable expression. If he noticed the missing ribbon, if the connection was made to the one that had bound her curls the night before... he said nothing of it. Instead, in a low, sad voice, he asked which one she wanted.

In truth it didn't matter. She knew each line by heart, had stamped each word into her brain, could recite them as easily as breathing... but the feel of the paper in her hands still soothed her as little else did. It was why she'd thought of it; the look on his face was why she hadn't asked. "It's not really--"

"Which. One. Do you want. Alex." She hated the pain she heard in his voice, the ice in the clipped tones.

"It doesn't matter. I know them all." She hadn't meant to say that, and the barely perceptible flinch he gave at the words made her heart sink. His eyes slid closed a moment, then he brushed through the stack, shuffling envelopes until he selected one to draw out. He held it by the very edge, carried at arm's length, until he dropped it to the blanket as though he'd been burned.

Her hands latched on to the paper of their own volition, and she winced again at the look that crossed his face at the greedy gesture. Her eyes flicked to the envelope, registered the date, recalled the words within.

 

_Dearest Alexandra,_

_For so long I had imagined my heart impervious, a battlement that could never be breached, a citadel never to be taken. Though secretly, I realize I wished someone to steal over the walls I had so carefully constructed, to rescue me from this stifled existence. When no such storming savior appeared, I began to despair they ever would, and so grew to hate my heart, to ignore it with tenacity and put it from my mind._

_Then one day I met you, and though our time together was brief, I have come to know you, and feel you have come to know me, through these paper circuits which bear our love across the distance, and have helped us seal the gap that once lay between us._

_I confess to you here, even if the words fail me in your presence, that I find I have come now to love my heart... because that is where I know I will always find you._

 

Tears leaked from the corners of her closed eyes, and she swiped them away with her shirtsleeve. Matt's hand was on the doorknob - _how had he crossed the room so silently? -_ but he halted at the sound of her voice.

"Matt? Does it bother you that I wanted it?" He stood, silent and still, face to the door. His breaths were measured, even, though not calm. Finally he spoke.

"No. But I wonder why you did. What comfort is to be derived from reading words you already know so well."

"Would you like me to-"

"No," he interjected. "The letters are yours, as are your reasons. I have no claim nor wish to know. Nor do I wish to know if you will drift to sleep with its pages pressed to your heart." He yanked the door open in punctuation.

She had no intention of doing so, content to merely have it on hand- but something in her flinched at his words, the deeper implication behind them. Against her will not to wound him, she felt a deep need for a parting shot. "Would it bother you so much if I did?" Both of them seemed affected by the words, and the hurtful tone in which they'd been delivered. An apology was on her lips when he spoke again, this time so low she could almost believe she'd imagined it.

"More than words could express." And with that, he stepped through the door and pulled it shut behind him.

Alex sat staring at the space he had occupied for some time, not hearing the ticking of the clock, the crackle of the fire, wanting a cup of tea, not taking one for fear of dashing it against the wall in frustration.

Her head sank into her hands with a sigh, only to met the crinkling resistance of stationery. With a groan, she flung the letter into the drawer of her night table and flopped back against her pillows. The tea tray rattled with the movement, and for one long moment she entertained the thought of shoving it off onto the floor for the offense of existing around her.

Instead, she tamped down the childishly destructive urge, slid over the mattress and leaned down to set it carefully on the floor. As she straightened and crossed back, she caught a trace of Matt's cologne on his pillow. Leaning down, she took a fuller sniff, surprised by the fresh tears that stung her eyes. 

A wave of misery crashed over her, and she succumbed, wrapping her arms tightly around the fluffy substitute while for the second time in 12 hours, she cried herself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry! you have my word- I'm not trying to kick you guys when you're down. but I realized I needed this in before I posted the next chapter.  
> if anyone needs me, I'll be hiding in my pillow fort.


	15. Chapter 15

Awaking a few hours later to a rumbling stomach, Alex slid onto the floor and nibbled on her stale toast and cold eggs in a daze. Vaguely aware of the butter and yolk stains on her long sleeves, she whipped the shirt over her head and left it wadded atop the breakfast dishes.

Gripping the heavily carved bedpost to hoist herself back up, she stumbled around the front and tripped over Florian's trunk. She'd forgotten Matt's kind gesture of stowing it in here for her, but in her current mood she kicked at the trunk in annoyance, biting back a howl of pain as her ankle wrenched. She dropped to her knees with a stifled sob, hands clasping the abused joint gingerly. Her head tamped back against the footboard, the blow only barely softened by her hair.

"Oh, God," she murmured to the empty room. "Everything hurts." She managed to scramble back into bed, and burrowed back under the covers, taking Matt's pillow along for company. _Misery was supposed to love it, after all,_ she thought as she caught a fresh whiff of his scent on the pillow and the tears started anew.

It was dark when Alex woke again, eyes raw, ankle sore, heart aching. Her head pounded dully as she sat up, but she halted when she registered the soft sound of breathing in the still chamber. She briefly wondered if Salome had been returned, though it seemed unlikely that no one would've alerted her. She looked anyway; no tiny bundle sat visible in the bassinet. Then her attention turned toward the mantelclock to check the time, and her heart skipped a beat.

Matt sat in a chair by the fireplace, turned to face the bed. His jacket shed and cravat undone, the white lawn of his shirt seemed to glow. He was slouched a little, one arm draped across his stomach, the other resting on the plush arm. The tips of two long fingers were against his temple, the other two curved in the air in front of his cheek, and his thumb was pressed into the underside of his jaw. His feet were bare, crossed at the ankles atop the ottoman. In the firelight, she thought they were quite nice looking feet for being stashed inside leather all day- then shook her head against the strange notion.

The breathing was his, and he had evidently fallen asleep on guard duty. She felt both discomfited by his stealth presence, and strangely comforted by his watching over her as she slept. Still, she felt she should wake him, if only to see if he'd prefer a more comfortable place to sleep than the wingchair.

"Matt?" Her voice was rusty, like an unoiled gate, and sounded too loud despite barely speaking above a whisper. Still, he heard her, and shifted with a soft snort, blinking bleary eyes in her direction.

"Mmmm. 'Lo, Alex." His tone was thick with sleep but mellow, sweet, as though he'd just been roused from a nap but was happy to see her. "Feeling better?" he asked as he stretched his arms above his head.

"Have... have you been... How long were you watching me sleep?"

His face screwed up adorably, like a child asked to figure a sum, before he shrugged. "A few hours probably. Didn't mind though. Do it a lot." Alex's jaw dropped as she realized he was still at least partially asleep, if his suddenly careless tongue were an indication. Matt never actively hid things from her- at least she trusted that he didn't- but an open book he was not. Any direct question usually received a direct answer, but random outbursts of a personal nature were... rare, to say the least. She decided to file away the admission to pursue at a later date, and posed a new question.

"Why didn't you come to bed?" Grateful for the flickering shadows that hid her blush at her bold tactlessness, she swallowed and waited for his answer.

His head had gone back to balancing on his fingertips, and he responded without re-opening his eyes. "You _were_ sprawled out quite a bit, Alex. Flung about over there like a swastika stamp. Couldn't have found a spot if I'd tried, without curling up at your toes like a deerhound."

An unladylike squawk escaped her at the description, but before she could speak, he rubbed his fingers over his eyes and chuckled, low and rumbling. "Besides, _someone_ was curled up all over my pillow. Would've been ungentlemanly to disturb such a clinching embrace."

The heat suffusing her cheeks fanned to spread to the roots of her hair, and she felt the blush continuing to the neckline of the buttoned vest she still wore. Fortunately the gooseflesh prickling her bared arms combatted the heat, and the sudden shiver allowed her time to recover her composure.

Chafing the skin on her arms lightly with her hands, she settled into a self embracing posture and rested her chin on her propped up knee. "You don't seem... upset. Does this mean you're not still... mad? About earlier?" The dancing firelight made it impossible to decipher his expression, but he shook his head, fringe flopping as he spoke.

"No. I'm not. A bit sad, perhaps," he broke off and caught her eyes with his own, "and getting rather stiff from slumbering in a chair the better part of two weeks, but definitely not mad." She let out a soft giggle, her brain missing the oddity in his statement as she watched him stand to stretch again. He walked to the foot of the bed and stood, silhouetted by the firelight. It had to have been her imagination that she could see his eyes glowing as they regarded one another.

"How's your ankle?" His voice, barely above a whisper now, felt like a caress in the dim light. She made no reply beyond unbending her knee and turning the covers back to reveal her bound foot. He walked around the bed's corner and perched gently on its edge, seated in shadow as the light washed over her. The fingers of one hand pressed gently around her ankle, probing for swelling, stopping to lay lightly across the top when she hissed in pain. "What happened?"

She could have denied it, pretended she didn't know what he was talking about, evaded by asking how he knew. But she didn't have the energy. Wishing he'd move into the light so she could see him, she admitted, "I got out of bed and kicked the trunk."

"Ah, I see. Wronged you with its simple existence somehow, did it, dear?" The statement was so close to her thoughts regarding the tea tray that morning, Alex gasped, then shook her head when he expressed concern again. They fell into a silence, watching each other, and Alex felt separated by something more barring than shadows and light.

She didn't know what to say, how to phrase it, where to even find the words to try. But she hated this feeling, needed it to change. So instead she scooted back, settling herself and the rearranged pillows near the top of the bed on his side, and extended a hand towards him. It hung there in the shivering ribbon of light that fell between the half-parted bedcurtains, waiting to see if it would be accepted by the man who still sat in the darkness.

He said nothing as he stood, and for a moment Alex felt her heart quake at the thought he might yet leave her. But he merely shucked his shirt and relegated it to the floor before sitting back down and reaching for her hand. Their fingers met, held, twined together, and Alex gave a little tug. He slid up to join her unresistingly, not speaking as she pushed at his shoulder until he lay back against the pillows.

She moved slowly, and eased herself down to curl against his side. Her cheek settled over his heart, and she drew a deep breath in as she tried not to think too much about the feel of his warm bare skin. One hand rested a few inches away from her nose, her other arm reached up from the space between them to wrap around her middle.

One hand settled over the one resting on his chest, while his other arm pressed comfortingly against her back, his fingers lacing between the ones that lay on her hip. They were wrapped together- consciously entwining this time- and each felt a tightness in their chest begin to loosen as they drifted into a peaceful sleep in each other's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm coming out of hiding.  
> a bit of sweet and fluffy. things are about to take a turn for the better... at least for a while.


	16. Chapter 16

Matt awoke ahead of Alex that morning, feeling well-rested and a soul-deep sense of peace. Sharing a bed with Alex once more was pleasant; falling asleep wrapped up with a willing Alex was… indescribable. For once he was glad everything practically ran itself; there was no need to run off.

As he felt her stir in his arms, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and murmured good morning. Her sleepy reply was endearing, even as she stiffened and brought her head up slowly to look at him. He kept his expression neutral, his voice calm and light as he asked, “Forgot where you were for a moment?” She blushed and nodded, starting to pull away; he halted her with a soft press of his hands. “Did you at least sleep well?”

Alex drew in a deep breath and nodded again, wincing as she sat up. He released her long enough to push himself up as well, and eased an arm around her shoulders. He was trying not to smother her, but wanted to be close if something was wrong. “What is it?”

She gently crossed her arms under her chest and hunched her shoulders into a curve. “I… think it’s time for me to see Salome.”

Whatever he’d been expecting her to say, that had not been it. “Oh. Missing the poppet, eh? Well, I’m sure she’ll be alright til after breakfast; it’s only been a day since you last saw … What?” He asked when he caught the look on her face.

“That’s… sort of it. It’s been,” she looked at the mantel clock, doing some mental calculation, “about 36 hours since I last saw her.”

He gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “Aww. Counting the minutes apart? How sweet.”

Alex rolled her eyes and let out a huff of frustration. “Not really. I… _need_ to see her. For breakfast?” His look of total incomprehension forced clarification that brought a blush to her cheeks. “To feed her.”

She straightened her back and the motion gave him a clearer view of her vest-clad chest- which at the moment was straining the material with an unusually full voluptuousness. Understanding dawned with an uttered “Oh!” and he scrambled out of bed to the bellpull, giving it a firm tug. He had his dressing gown on by the time a servant knocked on the door, and he relayed instructions in a hushed tone as Alex waited in bed, attempting to will away the soreness in her laden breasts.

The door closed and Matt climbed back in beside her carefully. Propping himself up against the headboard, he placed gentle hands on her shoulders, pressing his thumbs up into the tense muscles for a few minutes before easing her back to rest against his chest. She settled with a grimace, and his hands slid over the soft skin of her upper arms in a soothing gesture. “Can I do anything?”

She let out a sigh and relaxed her arms a bit. “Actually, you’re doing it. Mmmn, that feels nice,” she said as one hand moved to her neck and began applying firm pressure in little circles of his fingers. Her eyes slid closed, and she loosened a bit more into his light hold.

A second knock on the door startled her, but Matt merely retained her in his grasp and said, “Come in.” Jenna bustled in with Salome, cooing about how well-behaved the little girl had been and halting at the bedside to deposit her in Alex’s arms. She stayed put a moment, eyeing the domestic scene with a grin before she bobbed a curtsey and excused herself. “Just ring if you need anything else, sir. Ma’am,” she nodded at Alex before slipping through to the hall and leaving them alone.

Propped up against her mother’s drawn up knees, Salome burbled at them happily, gripping Matt’s fingertip in her fist as he chuckled. Alex felt the rumble of the sound in his chest against her back, then a sudden awkward self-consciousness about how to proceed. “Uh, Matt?”

“Yes?” he questioned in a cooing tone, making some sort of silly face at Salome, who watched delighted.

“Could you… I mean, would you mind… um…” Thankfully her stilted attempt at speech conveyed what was needed, and Matt cleared his throat before sliding out from behind her. He filled the emptied space with pillows, and with a final caress of his fingertip to Salome’s chubby cheek, excused himself and headed into the washroom.

Thankful for the privacy, though oddly unrelieved at his absence, Alex undid the buttons on her vest, settled Salome properly in her arms, and fed her daughter. The dull ache eased as Salome nursed hungrily, and she breathed out a sigh of relief when her daughter was sated, drifting into a soft doze in her mother’s arms. Alex held her close a while, rocking her gently, and was pondering exactly how to get her into her bassinet when the door to the washroom opened a crack. Matt’s voice issued around the paneled wood.

“Is it safe? I’m not trying to intrude, but it occurred to me you might need a hand. I mean, after you were finished,” he clarified hastily, and Alex suppressed a giggle. “If you _were_ finished, that is. I can wait if you’re not though. The tiles in the floor could use counting.”

Alex ordered him in with a laugh, and after pressing a soft kiss to her daughter’s curls, handed Salome over to Matt – who tactfully averted his eyes. She redid her buttons, planning to push herself up and hop in to take care of things herself, when Matt reappeared by the bedside.

He scooped her up in his arms, carrying her to the washroom for her morning ablutions, letting her shoo him out after setting her on the counter and placing everything she’d need in easy reach. A short time later, he gave a gentle knock on the door before he re-entered, finding her standing on one foot and wrapped in a towel. Once he regained use of his tongue, he asked if she needed anything else.

She blushed to the roots of her magical ringlets. “Well, I should probably get dressed, if you don’t mind.”

He tilted his head to one side, tapping his chin thoughtfully with one finger as he pretended to study her carefully, before straightening with a shake of his head. “Nah. You should go down to breakfast just like that. Might set a fashion.”

She let out a shocked giggle and pressed one hand to her heart. “Well, maybe in the summer. At present, it’s too cold to be fashionably… un-attired.” He was by her side in a second, sweeping her off her foot as she gasped and clutched at his shoulders in a bid to keep the towel between them.

“Excellent point. Can’t imagine what I was thinking of,” he said, carrying her back into the bedroom.

Depositing her carefully on the bed, he strode to the clothespress and tugged open the door. “What would you like to wear today?”

“Oh, I think… I mean, shouldn’t I ring for Olivia?” He turned to her, mock indignation on his face.

“You wound me, Alex. I’m quite capable of helping a lady dress.” That scandalized little giggle escaped her again, and her curls danced as she shook her head in disbelief before risking a look at him.

“The… black and white striped, then, since you’re there. But Matt…” He looked at her, the dress draped across his arm. “Not to… question your prowess as a lady's maid, but… at least for today, could you ring Olivia for me? Please.”

He laid the dress carefully on the bed beside her, leant over to look her square in the eye a minute, then pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. “As you wish.”

Salome slept soundly while Alex dressed, and she thanked Olivia for her help from her perch on the mattress’s edge.

As soon as Olivia emerged from the chamber, Matt swept in and once again gathered Alex up in his arms. “Matt! Honestly, you… don’t have to keep carrying me around like this.”

Mindful of the slumbering child, he kept his voice low. “Nonsense. I’m happy to do it.” He bore her effortlessly to the stairs and began making their way down. She was worrying her lower lip between her teeth, an action he found endearing but distracting. “But surely, one of the servants could—“ She broke off in a squeal and tightened her hold on him when he gave her a little bounce at the landing halfway down the staircase.

“Alex I’m surprised at you- thinking I’d let another man sweep you off your feet when I’m around. Tsk tsk. Simply not the done thing at all, I’m afraid.”

They arrived in the dining room in companionable silence, and Matt deposited her in a chair at the table’s head, shifting the chair beside to a better angle for her to rest her foot on before heading to the sideboard to fill a plate for her. A maid appeared with cups and saucers for the new arrivals, and her twin poured them steaming cups of fragrant coffee. The milk and sugar were brought from the center of the table, and the maids disappeared back into the kitchen.

Catherine sat at the table’s opposite end, raising a disapproving eyebrow as Matt deposited Alex’s plate before her and took a seat at her elbow. “Matthew, what _are_ you doing?” She inquired in a haughty tone.

Matt leisurely prepared his coffee- four lumps and a splash of milk- before he answered or even acknowledged her. “And a pleasant morning to you, too, Catherine. I trust you slept well,” he queried civilly, blowing across the top of the piping hot liquid.

Their sister-in-law let out a sniff and replied in a bored tone, “Oh if that’s what we’re doing, fine. Well enough, sir. I trust you fared the same?”

“Yes, thank you,” Matt answered with counterfeit cheer and tucked into his eggs.

Alex braved a look down the table and saw Catherine glaring at them both, a calculating expression on her face. Then her lips pursed into a tight smile, and she rested one languid fingertip against her cheek.

“Oh, tell me. Did you finish your reply to Daisy’s letter? The dear girl’s correspondence certainly has been piling up these last few weeks, hasn’t it?”

Alex felt a dull ache in her side at the question, as though she’d been struck by something. Matt looked poleaxed, but the white knuckled death grip he had on his fork suggested a more murderous train of thought.

“My correspondence is none of your concern.”

Catherine persisted. “I was merely inquiring if you had room to convey my best wishes near the end of your letter. If not, I shall reserve them until my own, where I should have room to do them proper justice. I wished to extend an invitation to her anyway, for a visit. Does a fortnight from now suit you?”

Matt let his fork clatter, but took a moment to dab the corners of his mouth with a napkin before replying in a tightly controlled voice. “Not remotely.”

As though his meaning were anything but clear, Catherine spoke again. “Very well, the week after, then. I’d rather not leave it too long though. You don’t mind, do you?”

“In point of fact I do. Very much, as I know you to be aware. If you are so desirous of Lowe company, I suggest you impose on _their_ hospitality.” Alex watched in morbid fascination as Catherine’s face tightened in on itself as though someone were pulling a drawstring. “Furthermore- not that it is  any of your concern- I have no intention of replying to her superfluous communications. Any letters you failed to pounce on were relegated to the rubbish bin. You may feel free to _convey_ that piece of news when you write again to her.”

Catherine looked as though she might speak, then snapped her mouth shut and swept from the room in a huff. Matt allowed himself a glare after her retreating back, then shook his head and turned to Alex with a wan smile. “Better she left when she did. I nearly lost my appetite. So… what shall we do today?”

Taken aback as much by the bizarre exchange with Catherine as with his abrupt shift of topic, Alex blinked for a few moments before collecting herself enough to reply. “Well… don’t you have work to do?”

Matt seemed to consider this a moment while he chewed his toast and marmalade, then shook his head. “No, not really. This place is remarkably well run.”

“But… you’ve been so busy these last few weeks.”

Matt’s mouth twitched into an off-kilter smile as he dropped his gaze to the remnants of his breakfast. “Actually, I’ve been… pretending to be busy these last few weeks. There were things to do, but as I said, this place requires surprisingly little day to day input.”

Alex felt her brow furrow. “Then, why-?”

“Because it seemed the easiest way to keep away from you.”

A blush crept up her cheeks at his answer, and she swallowed before a soft “oh” of understanding escaped her. Her hands fidgeted in her lap until they were stilled by one of Matt’s larger ones coming to rest atop them.

“But if you’ll have me, I’d much prefer to spend my day with you.” Her eyes flicked up to his, gauging the truth of the statement, a little startled by the openness of his expression. He was being serious, and so she replied accordingly.

“I’d like that.” She redeemed one of her hands and gestured towards her ankle. “Though I’m not sure what we can do. It’s rather cold outside, I’ve been all over the house and grounds anyway, and I don’t think I could deal with the minor scandal created by you lugging me about town.”

Matt leaned in so close, she felt each word ghost over her cheek. “Oh, Alex… I’m sure we can think of something.”

When she’d finished her breakfast, Matt collected her once more and strode into the library. Settling her at one end of a long sofa by the cheery fire, he wandered around the shelves until he made a noise of satisfaction and slid a book from the stacks. Pausing by the window seat, he returned, depositing her sketchbook and sack of pencils in her lap, and settled himself at the opposite end. He gently lifted her slippered feet and set them in his lap before opening the volume he’d selected to a page near the middle.

Alex watched curiously as he began to read in a low, enveloping tone- different from his usual voice. “My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains my sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk…” She listened enraptured as he completed _Ode to a Nightingale_ , the images of gardens and wine-stained lips swirling in her head.

Taking up her pad, she began to sketch the random tenants of her mind, the patterns becoming almost abstract as he started a new poem. They passed an hour at their shared pursuits, Alex focusing on committing his profile to paper after the first two quarters had slipped by.

She was brought out of her reverie by a touch on her ankles, and looked up to see him slipping from the sofa’s end to exchange his book for another. When he returned, he placed a cushion beneath her bandaged limb and perched on the edge of the sofa before opening the new book. It was a comedy set in a village in Italy, and Matt performed the various characters with animated and distinct voices, occasionally springing to his feet to execute some related action.

When she wasn’t laughing too hard to hold the pencils straight, Alex sketched his effusive expressions, and tried to capture some of his more fluid movements. During a particularly dramatic scene that had him dueling a phantom opponent with a fire poker, Laura entered announcing luncheon.

Matt wheeled on her, dropping the thread of the story but drawing her in, clearly reviving some childhood game. They bantered for a few minutes until Alex was wiping tears from her eyes, whereupon they clasped hands and took a bow while she applauded.

Still giggling, Laura plopped next to Alex on the first cushion, enveloping her in a hug as she inquired after her. They exchanged small talk while Matt restored the room, only ceasing when he returned and tugged his sister unceremoniously to her feet and spun her out of the way.

“Oi, rude!”

Matt waited until Alex set aside her supplies to gather her up again, then turned to Laura with a wink. “You were in the way of me performing my gallant duties, Lor. Besides, can’t have you coming between me and my wife, can I?” He turned a warm look on the woman in his arms, and she was so caught up she missed Laura’s appraising perusal.

“Well, if you two are quite done, I’m famished and I know Alex needs to keep up her strength dealing with a numpty like you.” The slight was delivered in a tone that removed any true sting, and the three retired to the dining room in shared laughter.

The rest of the day was passed in contented company. After lunch and a check on Salome, Laura and Matt returned to the library and drew Alex into reading copies of a play. They each took parts, and much fun was had editing their lines on the fly. In the afternoon, they sat on cushions before the hearth, and toasted bread and sausages on wires like children. They eventually drifted off for a short nap, curled together cozily- Matt straight in the middle, Alex and Laura each tucked under an arm.

They awoke when Jenna arrived, needing Matt's attention on an estate matter. Alex reset herself on the sofa and sketched Laura as she regaled her with tales of her travels. During dinner, the three congregated at one end of the table, ignoring Catherine as they chattered about their day in easy companionship.

Matt bore Alex up to their chamber directly after for Salome's feeding, giving the two privacy by slipping downstairs to bring Alex a glass of milk. She was sound asleep when he returned, so he collected the little girl and tucked her in with a soft kiss and a whispered good night. Although it was still early, and the day had been neither stressful nor long, they each felt drowsy and agreed an early bedtime would not go amiss.

He helped her out of her dress and corset, wrapping her in his dressing gown before carrying her into the washroom to brush their teeth. Afterward he bore her back to bed, shedding his clothes and easing in beside her. He waited, keeping his distance, until she curled against his side. He let out a breath he was unaware he held, and wrapped an arm close around her.

His eyes were closing when her soft voice broke into the stillness. "Matt?"

"Hmm?" he replied.

"Thank you for today. It was... really..."

"I know. I liked it too," he agreed softly. She snuggled a little closer and he felt contentment cover him like a warm blanket as they drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully this isn't too rambly; it just kept spinning itself out. and I promise not every chapter is going to be a single day. we're in a good place right now, and we'll stay there for a while.


	17. Chapter 17

The days flew so smoothly that Alex was surprised to find a week had passed. Since that restful playful day Matt carried her around, he insisted on spending time with her daily, sweeping her into his arms and keeping her with him. They spent time with Laura, and played with Salome, and one afternoon he set her on the counter in the kitchen and followed orders as carefully as possible to make a simple tart she’d had a craving for. Two charred attempts, a small fire, and an audience later, he produced an only slightly dark creation that Alex proclaimed suitable. The staff applauded, Alex giggled, and Laura cheered and offered to carry it to the dining room. But the three had settled in at the small table near the rear of the kitchen, drinking glasses of milk and eating forkfuls of tart right out of the pan.

They were simple, peaceful, happy days that ended and began in each other’s arms- with one small difference. Matt had determined that since kisses went over so well, he could do them whenever struck by the fancy, and so Alex found herself bussed on the cheek and pecked on the nose, and had kisses dropped into her hair or onto the back of her neck when Matt helped her dress in the mornings, and warm presses of his lips to hers as part of his ‘good night’s and ‘good morning’s. She blushed, and puckered back when she had the chance, and had even pressed a kiss to his cheek after he’d finished shaving the other morning- “to check the closeness” she’d explained at his look of delighted wonder.

He was in now washing up, though Alex had declined to join him and watch today. She stretched luxuriantly, toes curling and spine arching as a little high-pitched noise rolled in the back of her throat. As she came back down, she heard a soft matching whimper from the bassinet, and without thinking of it, she stood to gather up her daughter.

When Matt emerged from the washroom, running his silver-backed combs through his hair, Alex was standing midway between the bed and the crib, holding Salome with a strange expression on her face.

“Oh. You’re…”

She smiled and raised her foot a few inches from the floor, flexing it in a little rotation. “Yes. So it would seem.”

Matt gallantly tried to keep his crest from falling, but Alex’s giggle proved it hadn’t worked. So he insisted, in honor of the occasion, that he carry her around just one more day. He swept her laughing into his arms once Salome was settled and she was dressed, and bore her down to breakfast, where she earned a delighted look of puzzlement from Laura when he set her down and she proceeded to fill her own plate at the sideboard.

They all managed to ignore Catherine’s exasperated eye-roll at the explanation, and Laura spent the morning with them playing around in the gallery. After luncheon, Matt had some pressing business so Alex sketched in the library while Laura read. At teatime, after a quick check on Salome, Laura went off to take care of some correspondence and Matt carried Alex to the kitchen to supervise the preparation of the evening’s dessert.

Catherine absented herself, so dinner was delicious and pleasant- as were the intervening three days… until an urgent letter came for Matthew in Friday’s evening post.

He scanned the pages four times in silence, his agitation growing more pronounced with each repetition. Midway through the fifth read, Alex placed a hand on the pages and gently pinned them to the tabletop. Matt looked at her, startled, then visibly relaxed as he covered her hand with his own.

“I’m sorry, Alex.”

“It’s alright, sweetie. Just… talk to me. Is it bad news?”

He drew in a breath, hedging a little with his hesitation. “Of a sort. I mean, it’s not really _bad_ news- just definitely not good news. Boring and stodgy and a bloody nuisance, but the short of it is I need to travel out… in the morning.”

Alex swallowed, sliding her hand out from Matt’s loose grip and lacing her fingers together in her lap. “Oh,” she said, in a voice that was surprisingly steady. “Well, if it’s so pressing, surely you should go tonight.”

There was silence a moment before Alex looked up at Matt to find him watching her. Then he leaned forward and gently brushed the tip of his finger over her nose. “ _Nothing_ is pressing enough to drag me away. I’ll ride much better after a good night’s sleep, anyway, and I can only get that with you.”

Alex felt an answering warmth rise over her cheeks before her lips curved into a smile. Rising, she offered Matt her hand. “Well then Sir, let us to bed. The sooner the day arrives, the sooner you leave. And the sooner you can return to… us.” Matt pressed a kiss to the back of her hand as he stood, and tucked it into the crook of his arm as they headed off to bed.

The following morning, Alex slept late- though she dreamed that Matt pressed a kiss to her curls before he left- and when she awoke to an empty bed, she let out a little groan and flopped into Matt’s pillow- only to meet a crinkling resistance instead.

_Just a placeholder. I’ll be home tonight to reclaim my spot. –Matt_

A smile crossed her lips as she pressed a kiss to the note, but as she began to fold it she stopped, her eye caught by the words on the page. The handwriting seemed oddly blocky and squared, not really what she’d imagined his handwriting would look like. Then again, Florian’s handwriting had been… softer than she’d expected and full of an almost palpable excitement, a bit swoopy in its casual scrawl. The thought swept through her mind that his handwriting almost seemed to match Matt’s personality, but then Salome cried and she shook it off.

She puttered around the house, bored and fidgety for a reason she couldn’t place. For three hours, no matter what she tried to sketch, she invariably looked down to discover Matt’s eyes gazing at her from the paper, or the quirk of his half-smile cheekily planted in the corner. By late afternoon, she was downright restless. Laura beat her roundly at five games of whist and another three of draughts before commenting that Alex’s mind was quite clearly occupied elsewhere.

Dinner was a tight and awkward meal, with Catherine commenting to the room at large that there had been nearly a letter every day this week from Daisy, and in fact hadn’t there been one in the post the previous afternoon as well before Matt jumped off to town on suddenly urgent business? And of course how odd (though her tone implied she thought it anything but) that the Lowes lived quite close to town, and Matt had still not returned yet…

A strangely tense Laura finally snapped at her to shut it, which mercifully she did- although the smug smile she wore the rest of the meal seemed a bit too triumphant to Alex. In the library after dinner, Laura apologized, chalking it up to worry over her brother not being back when he ought to have been. The women sat in uneasy silence chewing on their cuticles until they parted company and went to bed.

The following morning, Alex felt wretched- partially because Matt was not in the bed beside her when she awoke, and partially because she discovered her courses had spontaneously decided to burst forth like a biblical plague. Curled up into a tiny ball of sweat and misery, she missed the quiet knock at the door.

Laura entered to inquire if Alex was ready to go down to breakfast but one look at her pale face sent her to the bellpull instead. When a servant replied, she held a few minutes conference before sending the girl on her way, then eased into bed around her sister-in-law. She stroked Alex’s brow with a cool rag and murmured little nonsensicals about her travels until the maid returned with a tray.

Coaxing Alex into a sitting position, heavily fortified with pillows and chair cushions, Laura placed a hot brick wrapped in flannel against her lower abdomen and poured her a steaming cup of ginger tea. While she sipped cautiously, Laura buttered a few slices of toast and tapped out a few small white pills from a brown bottle. Alex’s stomach threatened to revolt at the mere mention of food, but with Laura’s patient insistence, she managed to keep down a slice and a half of the thick granary bread.

“Good girl,” Laura praised. “Now, take these.” She handed Alex the pills and set aside her teacup to fill a glass of water. Alex stared at the strange things in her palm, curious and cautious, before inquiring to Laura what they were. “Willow bark extract, ground and shaped. They’re wonderful for headaches and such, and I thought the pills might be easier than a massive pot of bark and root tea.” Placing her faith in the Smith siblings, Alex tipped the pills into her mouth and followed them with a few sips of water, promising to drink the whole thing down before she went to sleep.

Salome cried for her morning feed just as Alex was beginning to feel a bit more herself, so Laura settled her in her mother’s waiting arms and allowed herself to be shooed down for her own breakfast. She paused at the door and turned back with a thoughtful expression. “He’ll be home soon. I’d know if anything had happened.” Alex tipped her face down to regard her daughter so the tears that sprang up wouldn’t show, so she missed Laura’s confidently decisive nod. “He’ll be home soon,” she said again, and took her leave downstairs.

Rather than brave standing, Alex cuddled with her daughter and fell into a light snooze until mid-morning, when Jenna, having heard of her mistress’s indisposition, brought up a small flannel bag filled with lavender and herbs with a fresh pot of ginger tea and a few more slices of toast. Alex sniffed it gratefully and thanked the girl, who returned a still slumbering Salome to her bassinet with a quick hug before bobbing a curtsey and leaving.

The herbal sachet combined with the ginger tea and Laura’s willow pills to restore Alex even more, and by tea time (following another quick nap) she felt well enough to move downstairs. She was smoothing her hair in the vanity mirror when she heard the pounding of hoof beats coming up the drive. Racing to the window, she was surprised to see a carriage- large and flashy, painted in a garish cherry red with green and black trim. As it rolled to a stop before the entrance, Alex had just enough time to register that the crest stamped on the side was unfamiliar when the door flung open and Matt burst out, sprinting towards the house before the coachman could even descend.

The man stood, his green and red livery making him look like a Christmas toy, and leaned in to converse with the carriage’s remaining occupants. He nodded, shook his head, nodded again, and then bowed and shut the door before climbing back atop the carriage and nodding to the driver. They took off in a blaze of dust and gravel, but as the carriage wheeled around the far curve of the drive, Alex saw the other passenger framed in the window like a painting.

A fashionable dress with a perhaps less than fashionably low neckline showed off creamy skin and a long swanlike neck bisected by a huge ruby on a black cord. Long dark coils were arranged artfully beneath a sweeping hat crowned with feathers that bobbed and shivered in the wind like the creatures that had once borne them. The brim of the hat was full and so wide that it obscured the top half of the woman’s face; _well_ , Alex thought, ‘ _woman’ is probably a bit far for a girl who could scarcely be more than 2 and 20._ But the part she could see quite clearly was the mouth, thin but deeply painted like a rosebud set in the snow. No, not like snow. Like the soft white petals of a daisy.

Suddenly needing air, Alex stripped herself out of her gown with a determination that bordered on savagery, leapt out of the puddled silk and threw open the nearest window, gulping in deep breaths of frigid air as the cold breeze kissed her heated skin. Alex told herself it was the sting of the cold that accounted for the tears that pricked at her eyes.

Finally cooled into calm, she slid the window closed again and checked on Salome before slipping into bed and curling up beneath the heavy coverlet, shivering as though she’d wandered naked across the moors in December.

It was late when Matt joined her. He paused to check on Salome, stroking her chubby little cheek with his finger a while before turning to look at Alex. She was lying half in shadow of the bedcurtains, and he could not see her watching from beneath her lowered eyelashes. She heard him undress, pad to the washroom to brush his teeth, trip over his boots with a muffled oath when he tried to cross back to the bed.

His skin was warm and solid against her back, his arms a comforting circle against which she stiffened before forcing herself to relax. When he spoke her name, a tentative question in the darkness, she made no reply. He dropped a kiss into her curls and whispered a good night. Alex listened until the sound of his breathing was low and even, a counterpoint to the soft snuffles of her daughter nearby, and lay awake for a long time wondering how she could be so surrounded and still feel so utterly alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys. you have my deepest and sincerest apologies for the delay. really, a month is just ridiculous. but the facts were as follows. I was stymied for a while as to how to get from where I stopped to... the next point I had written out (and no I couldn't just leap straight there- too unbelievable.) then inspiration struck at work, but it took a while to actually write out since I was so sick I could only type a few sentences during conscious bouts of non-vomiting. then I had packing and plans and stuff and all, and then I found myself in Alaska, where I have been for almost a week now and have *just* gotten internet.  
> there *is* more on the way- specifically the second part to this chapter, because I promised I wasn't going to leave you guys to drown in angst... at least for a while yet. and since it's slightly quiet (at least for the next 2 weeks) I will come home and write and polish and edit, and then post every few days. after that it'll be what I can when I can since I'll be moving to a part without internet during most of the week, until August.  
> but I thank you all for sticking with me so far, and I promise some really good stuff is on the way.  
> laters!


	18. Chapter 18

Matt woke the next morning with a smile. After a harrowing two days – and night – he had his beloved back in his arms. He’d barely shut his eyes the night he’d been away, but he knew it was Alex and not mere exhaustion that had sent him off so swiftly when he’d returned.

“Mmm. Good morning, dearest,” Matt said, stretching a little to press a kiss to her cheek. It seemed to be a trick of the early morning light that made her seem so pale, and she must not have been fully awake if she turned her head more into her pillow than into his embrace. Settling back down to nuzzle into her ringlets, he tried again. “Did you sleep well?” She squirmed a little before she answered with a noncommittal murmur, as though she were fighting some urge to flee. “Alex?” He propped himself up on one elbow and gave her his full attention. “What’s wrong?”

She shrugged, a simple roll of one silky shoulder that left him transfixed and perplexed at the same time. “I just… don’t feel well. My courses, you know.” Her tone was tight and uncomfortable, but it lent credence to her explanation.

“Ohhh, my poor darling.” Gathering her gently in his arms, he set one hand on her stomach and asked if there was anything he could do. “You won’t want to go down… Oh! I can ring for breakfast! We’ll dine on trays today, and I can have some tea sent—“ He broke off as she plucked his hand off carefully and curled into a tight ball.

“No. Thank you. I’ll be alright. Just… tell Jenna to send up the same as yesterday, please. And don’t let me keep you- I know Laura must be anxious to catch up.”

He had seen his sister the night before during dinner, but something in her tone made him acquiesce. He dressed and smoothed his hair, checked on Salome, bid Alex a quiet ‘feel better’ and rang for Jenna as soon as he reached the dining room. Catherine left as soon as he entered, so he loaded a plate and had just sat down when the diminutive housekeeper appeared. Laura eyed him curiously as she chewed a mouthful of toast and marmalade, but waited until Jenna departed before speaking.

“What’s the trouble, little brother?”

Matt swallowed his mouthful of coddled egg and took a sip of coffee before he replied. “It’s Alex. She’s not feeling quite well. Or rather, _still_ not feeling well, since it appears to have carried over from yesterday.”

“Well to be fair, we _both_ had rather a day of it yesterday. We were worried sick- doubly so in Alex’s case. Where on earth **were** you? And why did you come back in the Lowes’ carriage? You promised to tell me today.”

“It’s sort of a long story; I’d hoped to tell you both. But at least without Alex here, I can give you the unabridged version of events.” The look Laura gave him drew him up short. “What?”

“Why wouldn’t you tell Alex everything that happened yesterday? She is your wife, after all- she has a right to know.”

Matt let out an exasperated sigh and chewed a piece of bacon. “It’s not that I wouldn’t tell her if she asked. I just… didn’t see a reason to mention… every little _detail_ if I didn’t have to. You’re women- one never knows how you’ll react.”

A single feathery arch of chocolate brown slid up to touch her hairline. “Before I upend the contents of the coffeepot over your head, I’ll try to remember that you’re my brother and I love you.”

“Thank you,” he bowed without moving. “Wait. You didn’t tell _me_ something- how did you know I came back in the Lowes’ carriage?”

“Because I was getting ready for teatime in the parlor and I saw you drive up. Only the Lowes would have a carriage that looks like a Christmas present.” She rolled her eyes and added a lump of sugar to her coffee.

Nodding his agreement, Matt puzzled over what she’d said a moment, turning a fork in random patterns over his knuckles until it flew into the sideboard and embedded itself in the oatmeal. “Well, at least Alex didn’t see it.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, because she might’ve—“

Laura jumped in to clarify. “No. What makes you think Alex didn’t see the carriage? Or you getting out of it, for that matter?”

“Well… she wasn’t feeling well yesterday… and she didn’t come down to dinner last night. Surely she would’ve been in bed, resting, when I got back.” His heart did a funny little dip when Laura began to shake her head.

“Actually, she was feeling better by teatime. She sent word she was on her way down shortly before you arrived. And your windows _do_ overlook the drive…”

“But- but- but,” Matt spluttered. “No. She would’ve said something... Wouldn’t she?”

Laura gave an unrevealing shrug as she sipped her coffee. “I suppose it depends.”

“On what?”

Her eyes pinned his like a moth in a display case. “On how much she saw.”

Matt’s eyes widened, then screwed up to the ceiling as though he were in pain. “Oh, I’m such an idiot!” He was out of his chair so fast it nearly tipped over, and out of the room without so much as a backward glance… and so he missed his sister’s quiet reply.

“Yes. But then men in love so often are,” she stated to no one in particular as she nicked the last sausage from his plate.

Matt raced up the stairs, pausing the space of two breaths to knock on the door before stepping inside. Alex was propped up in bed, a teatray beside her and Salome in her arms. She swept up the sheets to cover herself. “Matt? What on earth-“

“Are you really not feeling well or are you just mad at me?”

Alex’s mouth opened and shut a few times, and Salome whimpered beneath the covers until her attention returned. Then she took a moment to adjust things and spoke softly, her eyes directed down at the bundle in her arms. “Did you figure it out on your own or did Laura help you?”

He scratched at his cheek as he took a few steps closer to the bed. “Lor… might’ve helped a bit,” he admitted sheepishly. She let out a little ‘hmm’ and settled back against the pillows before her eyes finally flicked up to meet his.

“I wasn’t exactly… _mad._ A bit hurt, and confused, and I’m not back to a hundred per cent yet, but…” She broke off and worried her lower lip before finishing. “Can you explain?”

“Can I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the bed. She dropped her gaze again as she nodded and he settled on the edge, his back against the corner bedpost. “Where would you like me to start?”

“These sorts of things typically begin at the beginning. It seems a very good place to start, don’t you think?”

He nodded before realizing she wasn’t looking at him. “Yes, quite. Very well then. Once upon a time, my parents decided to get married-“

Her involuntary giggle interrupted him. “Not quite that far. The morning you left,” she prompted.

“Ahh. Alright. The morning I left, I rode Theta into town to meet with our local lawyers about a problem with one of John’s holdings. They’d received word from the London solicitors that they considered… concerning, and I needed to meet with Johnson and Barrowman to get it all sorted and hopefully negate my having to drive all the way down. After what felt like an eternity, I was done. As I was preparing to leave, Theta threw a shoe and nearly twisted her leg. The muscle was tender and she seemed to be in pain, so I had her carted to a housing stable and instructed them to care for her like she was the bloody Queen. I should be able to collect her by week’s end, but you know I hated to leave her."

Pausing to pat Salome on the back a few times, Alex nodded her understanding and Matt continued.

"Anyway, I ran into Carter Lowe- Daisy’s father. And after he got the story out of me, he insisted I come home with him for dinner and he’d send me home with a horse straight after. Then his wife had a headache, so an interminable dinner with him and Daisy trying to play catch-up with me later, I tried to leave but they insisted on putting me up for the night. It was too dangerous to go at night and safer to travel during the day and that rot. Plus Carter said Angelica would want to see me. So after a horrible night's sleep I stayed for breakfast and immediately after I tried to go again. But Daisy insisted on driving me down, to check on Theta – even though she always tried to bite her - and do a quick errand… which turned out to be dragging me by the arm up and down the merchant row until I felt like screaming and ripping my hair out. I thought her nails were going to have to be removed from my arm by a surgeon."

The sudden sour feeling in the pit of her stomach stifled Alex's urge to giggle.

"Finally I couldn’t stand it- I was prepared to run home on _foot_ if I had to - and Daisy pouted but brought me back. And well… you saw me getting out. I couldn’t wait to be away from her and get back to you. But Laura caught me first and she thought you were still coming down- otherwise I know she’d have sent me right up. Then Catherine got her hooks in me til dinnertime and by then Jenna had said you weren’t feeling well… and well… now here we are."

Alex appeared to consider this a moment. Then she slid out to placed a well-fed Salome back in her bassinet and returned to the bed. She sat down carefully, then slowly slid to Matt’s side. She nibbled at her lower lip a moment, then looked into his eyes. “Can you promise me… that you will never keep anything like this from me again?”

Matt smiled a little shyly and tapped the end of her nose with his fingertip. “I promise I will never keep something like _this_ from you ever again.”

She smiled in relief and cautiously wrapped her arms around his neck, scooting a little closer when his smile broadened and resting her head on his shoulder. His arms were around her in an instant- careful not to squeeze too tight - and he simply held her, enjoying the hug and trying not to think too closely about whether or not he had just added to the lies that lay between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so hopefully this fixes it for a while. like I said, it's going to get better for a while from now on. after *that*.... well, spoilers!


	19. Chapter 19

After a few more days of taking it easy but feeling much better than she had, Alex was back on her feet and making rounds. She helped the gardeners weed and prepare the greenhouse which had been sadly neglected for at least two decades, deciding she needed the distraction of indoor planting until the spring came.

She attended a tea with Laura to discuss a new author and began painting a fantastic version of the view from the library window seat, with Matt offering suggestions on the magical creatures that could be glimpsed within the framework whenever he popped in. While some of his ideas had been given life by her brushstrokes, she refused to include a reptilian female wearing a day-dress; somehow the idea of a tea-drinking lizard-headed woman was just a bit too preposterous. What was next- female detectives?

Salome was growing bigger almost by the day, and Alex delighted in spending time with her newly active child. She rolled onto her back, her little legs kicking wildly, or rotated to lie on her stomach with a look of intense concentration. She identified the close people in her life: Alex was a cooing “ra-ra-wa” with a gummy smile and hands that reached for her, Matt was a quiet “Llll-loo” delivered with round eyes (as though she knew adventures waited with him), Laura was “whoo-ooh” done in such a high-pitched squeal Alex was glad they didn’t have dogs, and Jenna was recognized as a squishy face of glee with her fists squashed into her cheeks. Even Catherine- who had only been in Salome’s orbit a few times- was designated with a double raspberry that went “pblt-pblt” before she buried her face in the neck of whomever was holding her.

Matt played with the poppet nearly every day as well- when he wasn’t competing with her mother, his sister or their petite housekeeper for her attention. She listened solemn and wide-eyed to his stories (occasionally adding babbling suggestions) and let out giggling squeals when he danced her along his leg or tossed her in the air (which he stopped doing around Alex for the fearful looks she wore), and fell asleep when he rocked her in his arms. He even dealt with the changing of soiled nappies, making exaggerated faces of disgust that had both mother and daughter laughing. And when she was all clean, be it after bathtime or just after a change, Matt would press tiny kisses to her tiny fists or her toes or the little roundness of her tummy- although after she grabbed a fistful of his floppy fringe in a newly acquired viselike grip, he’d learned to make those quick.

And with every day that passed, Alex felt… lighter. It was as though she’d been moving underwater for much of the past year, and she was only just beginning to breathe normally and move without so much effort. She laughed more, and her heart felt less hampered, the ache within it easing until it faded completely. Her world was a little brighter, and little of that could be attributed to the watery sunlight that shone down bravely in the cold days.

Even her clothing was less troubled, as she had moved from relieved black to light mourning and was sneaking in full color in some of her wardrobe. Laura and Jenna raved about the changes, and Matt approved wholeheartedly- if the light in his eyes every time he looked at her was any indication.

Then there were the nights. The moon above may have been a globe of solid ice, the sky a stark and frigid black, but even then Alex felt light and warmth. Each night she slept in Matt’s arms, contented and calm. Each morning she awoke, either to find him watching her sleep or ahead of him, whereupon she would content herself for a few minutes drinking in the sight of him. His face was already so young, yet so strained sometimes in his waking hours- the effects of war and responsibility, she supposed. But in sleep, he seemed untroubled, completely at peace and so adorable it almost made her feel guilty for admiring it. Yet he never seemed to mind when he woke to her examination; instead he merely smiled or stretched languorously and tapped the end of her nose or pressed a soft kiss to her lips. On more than one occasion, even both awake, they had lain in each other’s embrace and simply felt the rhythms of the other’s heartbeats as they examined the ceiling.

Another week passed, full of fun and experiments in the kitchen and conversations about childhood and warm peaceful nights… and two blood red envelopes in the post. Matt made a point of disposing of them in front of Alex- unopened, unread, unwaveringly. She hadn’t asked him to do that, but any tension in her at the sight of those tauntingly bright missives eased when they were ripped in half and tossed casually into the fireplace.

No business drew him to town, and even the simple managing of the estate rarely kept him from her side for long. Despite the _sanctum sanctorum_ of the study, Matt had made clear she was welcome to join him or “intrude” whenever the mood struck her, and she had begun to take tea to him when she knew he was working. They sat across from each other at his desk while she poured and prepared a steaming cup, or moved to the leather covered settee near the far wall, their knees brushing as they shared cakes or scones in the quiet. Sometimes Salome joined them and the three shared floor picnics, careful not to let the roly-poly infant crash into the crockery.

Over the next few days, Alex began to notice a shift. Matt was vibrant and adoring and handsome and wonderful with her daughter, but something almost… primal seemed to unlock within her. At the most random of moments, she had the strangest urge to throw herself into his arms. The scent of his cologne made her pulse race, the sight of him running his fingers through those untamable locks of his made her weak in the knees, the feel of his bare skin against her cheek or beneath her palms in the morning left her with a desire to turn her head and taste it with a flick of her tongue. _What on earth was happening to her?_

That night Matt noticed her tension and tried to knead the knots out of her shoulders. She melted into his touch with a sigh, letting herself relax as his thumbs pressed up under her shoulder blades… until a familiar sensation began pooling in the pit of her stomach.

Sitting up with a sharp inhalation, Alex fought to control her suddenly thundering heartbeat. Matt’s hands came to rest gently on her upper arms as he asked what was wrong. She thought about telling him- the words leapt up and hovered on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed them down. She couldn’t, not yet at least. It was still too soon… _wasn’t it?_

For the first time since her bizarre second marriage began, Alex wished her mother were still alive to talk to. In the absence of family or any close remaining friends, Alex ran down a list of possible confidants. Catherine was right out, and Jenna, while sweet, probably did not need to know this much about her employers. Salome would be an excellent listener, but at five months was somewhat lacking in guidance and counseling. That left Laura, who might feel uncomfortable discussing Alex’s sudden… _awareness_ of her brother, but could hopefully still offer some form of advice. At this juncture, even a sounding board would be invaluable, and hopefully one Smith could help with the other.

Resolving to talk to her sister-in-law in the morning, Alex turned to face Matt. She pressed at his shoulders until he lay down, then curled up against his side, whispering a good night against his skin. His sigh was quiet but pointed, and his arms went about her with only a slight hesitation. The ticking of the mantel clock, the soft _thump-thump_ of Matt’s heart, the steady rhythm of Salome’s breathing, and the crackle of the fire all converged in a soothing lullaby that had Alex asleep in minutes.

The next morning she sought out Laura’s company at breakfast, and the two wandered arm in arm around the Gallery while Matt took a well-fed but still wide awake Salome to play in the library.

They strolled together in companionable silence a while, occasionally broken up by some small triviality, until Laura halted mid-hall and drew Alex up short. “Come on, girl. Out with it.”

“I’m not exactly a girl,” Alex demurred with a blush that, when paired with her loosened ringlets, leant her a decidedly youthful air upon which Laura refrained from commenting.

“Just the same, I’d rather you tell me whatever is clearly on your mind before we wear a track in the floor.”

Alex swallowed, a bit unsure of how to begin.

“Might it be something to do with my brother?” Laura suggested helpfully.

The blush on Alex’s cheeks intensified, but she nodded, still silent.

“Finally cottoned on to his being utterly besotted, have you? Well it’s about bloody time… What?” Laura asked at the look on Alex’s face.

“That… that wasn’t it. At _all_. Rather it’s more… me.” Her fingers knit themselves together in a rolling knot before her stomach while she worried at her lower lip. “If you’d rather not talk about this, I completely understand. He is your brother, after all.” Her fidgeting digits stilled when Laura covered them with her own, but the other woman did not speak until Alex pushed nervous eyes to meet hers.

“Yes, he’s my brother,” Laura agreed, with a soft squeeze to Alex’s loosening fists, “But he _is_ still a man, and you are still the woman who married him. The why on that one is still a bit hazy to me- I mean, have you properly seen that chin?” Alex giggled at the tease and Laura wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into an affectionate half hug. “But seriously, I love him, and only want him to be happy. And if you’re… coming around to that way of thinking as well, I’ll do anything I can to help. Now what’s going on?”

Alex drew in a deep breath and explained her recent responsive awareness to Matthew as delicately as she could describe it. Laura suppressed the occasional grin but asked simple and supportive questions until she struck on an important one.

“Your courses… they started just about a fortnight ago, right?” With a blush, Alex nodded confirmation. “Well, then this sudden awareness is as much to do with the fact that my brother _is_ a man as the man himself.” At Alex’s look of confusion, she explained about a recent medical breakthrough regarding a concept called Ovulation that had to do with hormonal response and fertility. “Trust the French to be up on these things, but I’d say that explains it about as well as anything.” _Except that my brother is an exceedingly good man who deserves the love of a good woman,_ Laura kept to herself.

A few more minutes of conversation left Alex feeling decidedly better, and Laura gave her a hug before seeking out her niece to go down for a nap. They’d figure it out eventually.

And so it was that Alex came to the decision that it was time to submit to her husband.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's right. it's finally time for a little Happy Sexy Fun. Honeymoon take 2. some 'brown chicken brown cow...'  
> that said, it *is* going to be one of my first posted love scenes, so just... be gentle.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> second honeymoon...

That night after dinner, Alex fed Salome in the library, nuzzling the sleeping child close as she considered her next move. When Jenna came in to say good night, Alex asked on a spur of the moment if she or one of the other maids could keep Salome overnight. The housekeeper let out a hushed squeal of delight and gathered up the little girl with a glowing grin, promising to take excellent care of her before bidding Alex a final adieu.

Alex headed up the stairs, walked calmly down the hall and stopped outside the brilliantly blue door that led to their bedroom. She drew in a deep breath, wiped her palms on her skirt, and gave a decisive nod before she opened the door and stepped through.

Matt stood by the fireplace, his back to her. She wasn’t sure exactly what she’d been planning to say, but as she turned back from closing the door behind her and advanced into the room, something near Matt caught her attention. A stack of boxes wrapped with blue ribbon and stamped with a curious design were balanced on the footstool by the hearth.

“What are those?”

Whirling about at the sound of her voice, Matt met her with a smile. “Oh those? Just some things I ordered for you when I was in town; they arrived just before dinner and I had Jenna sneak them up here for me. I’m glad you’ve been adding more color; I thought some things for when you’re ready to make that final leap would be… a good idea. But you’ve beaten me to it,” he said, indicating the bright floral print on her current gown. “In the meantime I thought you might at least like a new dressing gown,” he finished, selecting a box from the top of the pile and presenting it to her with a flourish.

When she made no move to take the package from him or even undo the ribbon, he cleared his throat and removed the binding himself. The lid flipped off smoothly as she watched, transfixed, and he set the box aside as he drew out a bundle of shimmering fabric that whispered like a Greek chorus when it cleared the wrapping.

It was probably gorgeous- his taste in everything but hats was quite impeccable- but she couldn’t have commented on cut or pattern or fasteners because her eyes were locked onto his. She moved without realizing she’d done so, until her hands were suddenly on the sides of his face and she was pulling him in for a kiss. Her fingers slid into his hair as her thumbs braced in front of his ears, and she was only vaguely aware of the whoosh of fabric hitting the floor before his arms went round her and pulled her close.

She kissed him with a hungry desperation that ignited a similarly voracious response, and the world whirled past a few times before she felt the mattress’s edge pressing against the backs of her knees. She fell willingly, pulling him along with her, where they landed with a soft “ooph!” that slipped past slightly bruised lips. Feather-light kisses ghosted over her brow and cheeks and down to the tip of her nose before he went to claim her mouth again- and stopped.

Drawing back, his eyes blinked rapidly as he looked down at her, and she watched his Adam’s apple bobbing along that delicious throat of his as he swallowed. His expression was serious, even slightly nervous, and she held her breath waiting for him to speak. He was examining every inch of her face with a surgical concentration, and the longer the silence stretched, the more she felt the quiver of her nerves. A thin edge of fear lanced through her gut. He couldn’t reject her now; she had this bizarre concern that it might actually kill her.

Then he drew in a breath, his chest expanding to press more fully against her, and he breathed out a single question. “Are you sure?” Her own retained air supply left her in an exhalation of relief, and when her eyes opened again the answer must have been written there, because he started to smile even before she finished nodding.

Her hands slipped beneath his coat, molding to his shoulders as she pushed the fabric down his arms. He stood, shrugging the coat the rest of the way off, and reaching down for her hands to pull her up to sit on the mattress edge. Then he waited.

She wiggled a bit beneath his steadfast gaze, and kept her eyes fully on her task as she undid the buttons on his waistcoat, waiting for him to shed the layer before pulling the ends of his shirt out of his snug fitted trousers. Slipping the studs out one by one, she trailed her hands up his body as the fabric eased away from his skin.

She surged up to her knees to unwind his cravat, the intricate knot no match for her nimble fingers- despite the slight tremble. The articles fell away to join their patriots on the carpet behind, and Alex risked a glance up at his face. Her gaze instantly faltered to the floor, where she started a little at the sight of his green and blue striped wool socks. Outside of the house laundress, no one but Laura and she knew of them. He’d grown up with fantastical footwear, mostly as presents from Laura, who bought them with her pin money to make him smile. Knuckling down a bit (and partially to avoid teasing) he’d worn boring regimental gear in service, but upon his return had ordered several pairs especially from a shop in West London, and she found the hidden hint of innocent whimsy endearing.

Sitting back on her ankles, Alex drew in a deep breath, pulled her lower lip between her teeth and reached for the fasteners on his trousers. She was quivering like a violin string but determined in her movements, and when the zip gave way she stilled and brought her eyes up to meet Matt’s. His hands brought hers to his hips, and he helped her guide the fabric of his trousers and smalls down until he could step out of them, his eyes never leaving her face. Then he stood, calm in the glimmering firelight, as her gaze began to wander down over his body.

The sight of him laid bare in all his glory was somewhat startling. It was like one of the marble sculptures from the Hall had come to life: all lean sinew and muscle and smooth pale skin. Her gaze dropped further still and… well, the word majestic sprang to mind.

Before she was thoroughly recovered from the display, he had drawn her up to her feet, a little dazed as he moved behind her. He trailed kisses over her shoulder and the nape of her neck, those long fingers of his deftly undoing the strings of her bodice and peeling the fabric away before he began on the pins holding her hair. When the last pin had fallen to the carpet with a muted plink, his fingers buried themselves in her curls, massaging her scalp until her eyes slid closed with pleasure.

Sliding his hands to her shoulders, he pulled her back flush against him, letting her lean on him as his hands snaked around to the fasteners on her corset. Despite the hitch when she felt him pressing intimately against her back, Alex breathed a little easier as he stripped off the layer, melting into him a little more as his lips grazed the shell of her ear and dotted the side of her neck. A faint tickle on her thighs was her only warning; her shift was up and over her head before she could open her eyes.

Alex whipped around, their bodies colliding as she tried to cover up by pressing herself against him. Matt swept her into his arms, kissing her sweetly before depositing her on the bed and kneeling down. She wasn’t used to this. Only once in the weeks of their marriage - the first time, for them and for her- had Florian ever laid her bare like this; more often than not he had lifted the edge of her nightgown and lain with her swiftly in the dark.

She shoved the thought down as Matt began undoing the laces on her shoes, removing them before he began the immersive task of untying her garters and rolling down her stockings. With a kiss pressed to every newly bared inch of skin, Alex was biting back a whimper by the time she lay there in her final article of clothing.

His fingers were cool as they skimmed up her thighs and hooked around the fabric, but the graze of his nails over her skin as he dragged off that final scrap of cover left her shivering with the heated sensation.

Matt took advantage of her distraction to ease up beside her, placing little bookmark kisses along the way before he gently reclaimed her mouth. He kept his eyes on her face as he mapped her body with his hands, returning every so often to cradle her cheek and simply stare into her eyes before kissing her with a slow burning ardency. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders and wove themselves into his hair as she kissed him back, feeling herself open beneath his touch.

When a hand slipped down between her legs, she snapped them shut reflexively. He stilled instantly, his nose an inch from her own. “Alex… we can stop if you need to.” She swallowed, let out a shaky breath, then shook her head; no matter what was about to happen, she definitely didn’t want this to stop.

“Just… maybe... kiss me again,” she requested in a breathless rush. As he complied she felt his trapped fingers slip free and trail feather light over the curve of her thigh, the turn of her hipbone and up her side to the valley between her breasts. Midway over the smooth arc of her belly, his hand rotated to lead with his fingertips again as it dipped back down between her legs.

For a moment, she was self-conscious, aware of the rush of moisture this deliberate seduction had wrought. Then he brushed through her curls to cup her slickened sex, stroking gentle patterns over her with those impossible fingers of his and she stopped caring.

Long slender digits- first one, then another- slid into her moist heat and she watched his eyes slide closed with a groan bit back behind his teeth. “God, Alex,” he breathed. “You feel amazing.”

“Oh, sweetie… so do _you_ ,” she gasped as he pulled out gently before plunging back in. She fancied she could feel every swell of knuckle, every whorl and ridge on the pads of his fingers as he slid and stroked inside her. His thumb swirled up to find the tiny bundle of nerves hidden in the soft down, and her nails staked themselves into his shoulders as her thighs clenched and her toes curled at the sensation.

She recalled a similar reaction when she had been young and curious at the age of 15 or so, aware her body was going through some intriguing changes and suddenly feeling as though her stays were laced too tight whenever Ralph looked at her. There had been this bizarre need within her, though she hadn’t known how to deal with it beyond a few tentative attempts. The sensation had been slightly overwhelming, and she’d learned to suppress the urge the few times it moved her in the intervening years.

Though she tried to ban thoughts of comparison (and her body was working overtime to ban thoughts of anything at all) she could not help but recall that Florian had never touched her with such exploratory reverence. He had appreciated her beauty as a collector might value an ornament, but Matt made her feel more treasured, and far more lovely. It was-

His mouth worked over her from lips to breast and back again as his hand began to move against and within her in a combination that left her breathless and a little dizzy. Her nails left tiny grooves in his skin as she held on, finally pulling him down for a slightly desperate kiss as a familiar pressure began to build.

He broke the kiss and eased his movements to the barest stirring, and Alex whimpered as the pressure began to recede. Then he slid her up a bit, so that her feet were resting near the pillows and her head was near the mattress’s edge, and kissed his way down her body.

He gently laved each pert nipple, teasing with his swirling tongue and grazing with the very edge of his teeth before continuing along his path. His tongue paused to dip into her navel and trace the seam at the top of her thigh before settling himself between her legs.

_Florian had definitely never done anything like this before,_ Alex thought… damning the comparison but quite curious as to what exactly he _was_ about to do. His nose brushed along the edge of her curls and the rush of warm air as he exhaled over her sex sent a shiver up Alex’s spine. Then his fingers settled over the curve of her thighs and his tongue licked a stripe up over her.

“Matt!” she squeaked a little breathlessly, and tried to squeeze her legs shut. But the pressure of matt’s fingertips on her skin was firm and his head came up, his eyes finding hers.

“Alex… do you trust me?” She nibbled at the fullest part of her lower lip as she considered briefly, then nodded. “Then just relax and feel. If you’re uncomfortable, we’ll stop, but… just… please let me try?” He wouldn’t hurt her, and if she needed him to, he would stop. Even having no idea what he was planning, she knew instinctively she could trust him- and that more than that, she actually did. So she let out a breathe she didn’t realize she’d been holding as she eased back down, and whispered at him to go ahead.

His cheek had been pressed against her inner thigh, so she felt his smile and a soft kiss against the skin before he lowered his head again. It began slowly, a gentle exploration, almost as leisurely as a kiss he might bestow on her mouth. Then his hands parted her, and her fingers clutched at the covers at the intoxicating openness the position gave her. His tongue was miraculous, teasing and tasting, delving deep before swirling up and over that one spot that had her thrashing as incoherent noises tumbled from her lips. He held her steady, his forearms a securing weight over her hipbones as his hands slid down to hold her open to his gaze… and his touch.

His tongue stiffened and thrust within her, mapping each curve and slope like some pornographic cartographer. One hand traced maddeningly soft trails over one hip and along the back of one thigh before coming to rest just under his chin. The movement of first one finger, then a second within her barely registered in her mind; his mouth was by far the main attraction. His nose nuzzled that curious bundle of nerves before his lips closed over it in a kiss.

He feathered his mouth around the nub, used the sparest pressure of his teeth, traced over it with his tongue around and around until her world spun, and then dear Lord above he drew it into the warm wonder of his mouth and sucked like it was a cinnamon sweet. Matt devoured her like a rare delicacy, and in a lucid flash Alex felt a delicious thrill at such delectable consideration.

As the passion in her built once more to a fever pitch, Matt hummed and she came with a keening cry. A strange cramp in her fingers eased when Matt gently disengaged their grip on his hair and slid up to lay beside her as they caught their breath. Returning to herself brought awareness of how loud she must have been, and amid the gasps, she breathed out an “I’m sorry.”

Matt leaned in, his forehead pressed to her temple, and sighed out a “whatever for?”

One small hand covered her eyes as she confessed, “I just realized how loud that was.” As she let it slip away, she turned to face Matt and startled. The expression he wore was not proud, like Florian’s had often been. It was full of wonder, delight and a bit of sadness at her reaction.

Capturing her hand in his own, he pressed a kiss to each fingertip before he shook his head, his lips brushing her knuckles with each pass. “Not at all. It’s you. You can react any way you want.”

Her hand slid out to cup his cheek. “Where,” she asked panting, “did you learn a thing like that?”

He turned his head to nuzzle his nose into her palm as he answered in an even tone. “Are you curious if someone taught me?”

_I wouldn’t say curious,_ she thought. Already swollen from his kisses, her lip was going to bleed if she worried at it anymore, yet she pulled it between her teeth just the same. He swept the pad of his thumb over her mouth, freeing her lower lip and soothing the skin with a soft lick and a gentle kiss.

“No one taught me that. I wasn’t exactly a monk, Alex, but the few women I’ve… bedded in my lifetime were just… fulfilling a need. And there’s been no one since my first year in the Army.”

An odd surge of relief coursed through her at the confession- until she realized he hadn’t answered her question. “Then…” she repeated through the heat blooming across her cheeks. “Where did you learn to do… that?”

With a sigh he set his elbow into the mattress and rested his chin in his hand. “You’ve seen the library.” She nodded in the pause. “Well, our grandfather- whom John was named for- did some rather… extensive traveling and brought home a few… rather interesting books. Father threatened to box our ears if ever we got into them, but when I turned 16, I… got one down to study. I wanted to be able to make my future bride happy.” His eyes stopped their meandering over the ceiling and returned to hers with a twinkle. “I’m just glad I turned out to be right.”

She couldn’t help it. She giggled. Matt joined her and their laughter mingled until they smothered it between them in a kiss that lingered until he slipped just out of reach.

Taking her hands he drew her up and gathered her in his arms, then turned and laid her back against the pillows. Easing the covers out from under her, she felt blessedly cool sheets against her still heated skin and let out a sigh. Lying beside her, Matt smoothed a few wayward curls from her forehead before trailing his hand down to cradle the side of her face. His fingertips caressed the underside of her jaw as his thumb stroked over the flushed apple of her cheek, and her hand mirrored the action with his own wayward locks and clear skin.

He brushed the tip of his nose against hers a few times before his forehead came down to rest against hers. “I could die happy right now, knowing this night wasn’t just a dream.”

A little surprised at the sudden boldness of wanting to speak her mind in bed, Alex allowed the first thought that swept through to pop out. “The night isn’t over yet.”

Her hands shook only a little as she skimmed her palms down the smooth expanse of his chest, ghosting over the sides of his ribs to his back, exerting a subtle pressure he yielded to with infinite tenderness. Settling his body over her own, he pressed one knee against the inside of hers, shifting her leg out to the side before repeating the process on its mate.

As his body aligned with hers, he braced himself on his forearms, giving her the final say, waiting. Then her hips canted up to press against his and he gave her what she wanted. Sliding into her in one smooth stroke that made them both gasp, he instantly stilled, allowing her body to adjust.

Settling her arms across the backs of his shoulders, she pressed him to move. Bending his arms to bring his body closer to hers, he began. A single thrust at first, out nearly all the way then back in, repeating the motion as he gradually picked up speed . Shifting upward to look at her body and watch her reactions changed the angle with which he slid and suddenly he was hitting an amazing new spot with each thrust. It pushed her further and further towards the edge until with a shiver she broke, lights exploding behind her eyes as she clung to him.

The last coherent thought to survive in his mind was _Does she know how beautiful she looks like that?_ Then with a groan of her name, he followed her over, panting into the damp curls at her shoulder as he drifted back towards the earth.

The first thing that registered when she found herself back in her body was moisture running into the hair at her temples, which she dismissed offhand as perspiration.

Until Matt looked into her eyes and placed his hands on the sides of her face, stroking softly with the pads of his thumbs; then she realized she was crying. She turned her head away but he exerted a gentle pressure to direct it back to face him. “What’s wrong?” His voice was low, soothing despite the obvious concern.

A soft sob escaped her before she recovered and made a quiet if broken reply. “I’ve just… never felt anything like that before. It was… so amazing. It was consuming, like everything inside me was filling with light. And then it… _exploded_ out like that and it just… was too much I guess.”

Easing out of her but staying close, he looked at her, so closely it seemed as though he could see straight through the flesh to her heart, the very soul of her. When she broke the silence to ask if something was wrong, he smiled a strange half smile and shook his head softly before answering her.

“I’m… glad that I was able to help you experience that; I’m just sad that you hadn’t before. Not to speak ill but Florian…” He faltered at the look in her eyes. Knocking Florian off his pedestal wasn’t the way to take his place in her heart; she had to _want_ him there, place him there when  she was ready. With a sigh, he finished. “It just means he didn’t take his time. You deserve that, and so much more.”

Fresh tears gathered in her eyes and he rolled to his back, arms around her, making soft shushing noises into her hair as she lay across his chest. Tired, sated and now completely worn out, she fell asleep listening to the steady sound of his heartbeat, lulled by the tender way he threaded his fingers through her tousled ringlets.

She missed him staring at the curtained ceiling, and the look on his face when he whispered an ‘I love you’ into her hair, trusting the curls to keep his secret safe before he followed her down once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this one partially written for a while now, but it took an *inordinate* amount of time to edit. I finally got to a point where I can keep my hands off it, so there it is. all I ask is that you be gentle.
> 
> and there's more on the way. I just have to recover from *this* chapter before I post the next one. excuse me while I go jump in a frigid shower and contemplate nicotine.
> 
> EDIT NOTE: and apparently I didn't need to worry. it was so good and distracting no one noticed the error near the end.


	21. Chapter 21

When she awoke the next morning, Alex didn’t want to move. She was warm and contented- and still fighting the wave of emotions over the night before.

She also didn’t want to let him know that she was awake just yet, so pretending to re-settle against his side, she went perfectly still, and likely would have remained so… had he not started reminiscing about certain… highlights from the previous evening in a sleepy drawl.

He pressed a kiss into her hair before concluding, “And I know you’re not asleep, Alex.” She popped her eyes open and turned her head to meet his gaze.

“How did you know?”

His smile was far too much devilish delight as he answered. “Sleepers don’t blush.” The heated flush on her skin intensified at that, and she dropped her head onto his rumbling chest with a little groan. Still chuckling, he wrapped his arms around her and made soothing noises into her hair until she emerged.

Realizing the need for a change in topic and knowing they’d be hungry soon, he mentioned breakfast, but Alex wasn’t ready to go down. Then he suggested breakfast in bed, but Alex didn’t want a servant to intrude on... this. She nibbled at her lower lip and traced a fingertip in random patterns over his chest until he cleared his throat, capturing her attention. With a tentative smile, he suggested if she was up for it, they could work up a good appetite and then go down together.

It had been the thought in the periphery of her mind, but she hadn’t dared ask. Taking a moment to consider it thoroughly, Alex agreed with an almost shy answering grin of her own, and slid off his chest an arm’s length away. However, when she started to lie back, he turned onto his side and halted her with a hand on her arm.

“Let’s… try something… a little different, shall we?” His arms slipped around her and he whipped onto his back, leaving Alex breathless and perched on his stomach, her thighs straddling his ribcage. With a squeak, she instantly dropped to his chest, hiding herself from his gaze.

A smile played on his lips as he slid his arms around her back affectionately and murmured a question into her hair. “Are you shy after last night?”

“A little,” came the reply, muffled against his shoulder. The smile widened but he kept his tone gentle.

“May I be so bold as to ask why?” The little huff she gave was an inclusive experience: he heard it, felt the soft air against his skin, saw the slight arching of her spine, and felt the contraction of her chest against his and within the circle of his arms before she spoke, her tone a little pained and pathetic but wholly adorable.

“It’s so **bright** right now. You can… see me.” He chuckled and pressed a kiss to her shoulder before shifting to make her look at him.

“I’ll let you in on a secret.” She propped herself on her elbows against his chest and asked what. “I could see you last night.” That blush flared across her face again and her gaze fell from his. “And the night we met. I can say honestly that firelight suits you. But so does candlelight and the pale glow of early morning and the late afternoon sun when you’d work in the gardens. And the way you take on this gold-brushed quality when the sun is setting is quite a thing to behold. In fact…” His hands cupped her face gently, thumbs stroking her cheeks as he took in the slightly awed expression in her eyes. It broke his heart that she doubted her beauty, and he resolved then and there that she would come to accept his words as fact, rather than flattery. “I can’t think of a time of day – or night, for that matter- that you look anything less than breathtaking.”

Her whole body seemed to suffuse with additional heat, and she buried her blushing face – and moistening eyes- in her tiny hands before dropping onto his chest once more. He rubbed her back soothingly a minute, then pressed a kiss to the top of her head. They could work on it later. “Aren’t we supposed to be working up an appetite? Or are you already sufficiently…hungry?” He growled the last word into her ear, and it had the desired effect.

She came out of her cocoon and slowly rose up, a glint of challenge and heat in her eyes. Never letting his eyes leave hers, he directed her back and steadied her hips, but made no attempts at control beyond that; the feel of her sinking onto him sapped his will to try anyway. She was warm and wet and amazing, and she seemed equally affected as she tried to explain while her body adjusted to him again. “I haven’t, mmm, that is… I’m not used to… I’ve never been like this before, so if I don’t do it right-“

He stilled her with the brush of fingertips over her lips. “Anything you feel like doing or trying is right, Alex. If it doesn’t feel right- to either of us- it’s alright; we’ll stop and find something that does.”

She nodded, and drew in and released a deep breath that moved her up and down approximately one inch. The simple action caused his eyes to flutter shut and the fingers at her hips to tighten on the soft flesh there. When he opened his eyes again, she was watching him with a look of fascination. Taking her bottom lip between her teeth, she braced her hands on his chest, eased herself up, then sank back down. The motion elicited a gasp from her, joined by a soft groan of his when she repeated the motion.

“Oh, Alex,” he breathed, trying to fight the urge to close his eyes at the pleasurable sensation. He wanted to watch her, see her eyes, record every inch of her skin in this new light.

His fingers left their post at her hips and slid over the soft expanse of her stomach. Instantly she stilled, covered his hands with her own, tried to lean back down against his chest. His forearms flexed to keep her from falling again as he tried to catch her downcast gaze with his. “What is it?” Her embarrassment was adorable but concerning, and Matt stroked his thumbs on the sides of her navel. She shivered a bit – and Matt did too as he felt the tremors all the way through her. “Alex?”

With a sigh, she wrapped her arms around her middle, trapping his splayed hands against her skin. “I forgot for a second. You can see… everything from down there.” She squirmed a little, and Matt fought his eyes’ attempt to rotate into his skull at the sensation.

“Thus the basis of the position’s appeal.” He wiggled his fingers, and caught her wrists when her arms flew open at being tickled. Her giggle died a quick death as she sobered, held open to his gaze as it catalogued her face, her neck, her breasts, the gently rounded fullness of her stomach, and lower still to where they were joined before flicking back to meet her eyes.

“I can see your face, so expressive and revealing.” He released her wrists, trailing his fingers along the undersides of her arms, biting back a groan at the shivers the touch elicited. His hands stopped to cup her breasts, nestling the firm weight in his palms. “I can see your breasts, which may be the most luscious things I have ever seen.” After a soft squeeze, his hands continued down to smooth over her stomach. “I can see the stomach that carried **life** within it, that swelled to accommodate a person _you_ created. These?” He began, tracing the fine white lines that appeared like lightning trails on her skin. “Are more beautiful than any battle scar. They show your body’s resilience, the way you stretched without breaking to hold something so precious.” Alex’s eyes misted with tears, and her fingers threaded with his own on her skin. “You are beautiful Alex- outside and in."

"And now..." he continued in a silken tone, as one hand slipped further, and the pad of his thumb found the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden within her curls. She gasped as her head went back- still unused to the rush of sensation such a touch elicited- before returning her gaze to his. “Move for me, Alex. Please…” His breathless request affected her, as did the twitch she felt deep within, and she happily complied.

As she moved, he continued to stroke her with his thumb, the hand she had still retained roving to her hip to steady her with a firm-fingered grip. His gaze bored into hers like a precision drill, lust-blown pupils rimmed in a knife-thin corona of amber spurring her on to a faster pace. Her thighs burned deliciously with the unaccustomed motion, tiny whimpers escaping her throat as each reconnection caused a new blaze of sensation to lick through her.

Something tight and deep began to build within her, the tension spiraling like a coiled spring, demanding more. Eyes never leaving his, she reached for the hand that steadied her hip and slid it up to her breast, covering his fingers with her own and directing him to squeeze. A little surprised at her boldness, she started to worry at her bottom lip again- until he splayed his fingers wide a moment and squeezed again. The movement caught her peaked nipple in a delicious rolling pinch that dragged a cry from her lips and had her pressing the balls of her feet into the mattress as she sought purchase for a whole new speed.

This time he came first, exploding within her with a roaring shout of her name, the hand that had reclaimed her hip gripping hard enough to leave a mark- a brand that declared her as his. Even through his haze, his thumb never relented against her, and when the sensation ripped through her, she screamed and collapsed in a boneless quivering heap atop his chest.

She slowly returned to herself and felt their racing heartbeats, the way their damp skin melded together, the cool rush of his gasps on her skin as he held her close. Her nose buried itself in the crook of his neck and breathed deep, exhaling in a sigh as he feathered kisses on her glistening brow.

He rolled them gently to lay on their sides, and Alex whimpered at the feeling of loss as he slipped from her. A kiss to the tip of her nose quieted her down, and she looked up at him. Only hesitating a second, she briefly pressed her lips to his, then drew back. Their eyes slid closed as he claimed her mouth again in a sweet but passionate kiss that left her breathless and a little starry eyed.

“I think we… um…” Her mind faltered a bit at the hungry look in his eye- until it remembered how she should finish her sentence. “Breakfast, darling?” His mouth twitched into a playful smirk, as though he were toying with the idea of saying something else.

Eventually he sighed, tapped her nose with his fingertip and said with amused resignation, “Oh, alright. If you insist.”

Feeling sore in several new places, Alex winced a little as she stood, stretched and reached for her dressing gown- which in the morning light she could see was a lustrous silk patterned in oceanic blue and green swirls.

Matt offered to have a bath drawn, but Alex shook her head, tied the sash on her dressing gown and disappeared into the washroom to freshen up. Trading places with a still nude Matt, she bumped into the doorframe as she watched him walk to the sink, blushing a bit at the chuckle that followed her out.

When he exited, she was frowning at her corset; he suggested she leave it off, offering her vest and a simple country dress instead. They dressed slowly, sneaking glances at each other over their shoulders from their sides of the room, smiling each time they caught the other’s eye.

Without the additional fuss her stays required, she finished tying her shoes and stood at the same time he was tugging on his second boot. Alex headed to the door, halted by Matt’s arms snaking around her waist and nuzzling her neck. Content to relax in his embrace a moment, she rested her arms atop his and let her head fall back onto his shoulder as her eyes slid closed. They popped open again when his hands tried to slip to her hips, and she slid from his grasp to pull the door open.

An endearing pout hung on his lips a moment, until his stomach let out an audible growl. They giggled at the interruption, and Matt swept into the hallway to stand beside Alex, gallantly offering her his arm. With a dazzling grin, she accepted and they made their way down to the dining room.

After breakfast, she rang for Jenna, who informed her that Salome was still sound asleep, but she would bottle feed her and return her to Alex before luncheon was served.

Laura pinned them both with a knowing but happy look, saying she would be working in her room a while before dropping a kiss to Alex’s cheek and taking her leave. Matt kept Alex tucked under his arm in the library as he read to her, punctuating with the occasional kiss and losing his place more than once.

After luncheon, Laura claimed Alex and Salome for a turn in the greenhouse. The little girl was propped up on pillows and blankets, watching with delight as her mother taught her aunt how to graft part of an ailing rosebush to a stronger plant. They chatted about literature, and laughed even as Laura used impressive Slavic cursewords when a thorn burrowed under her fingernail, and Alex was gentle as she treated the injury and pressed a kiss to her sister-in-law’s now bandaged thumb.

With an affectionate roll of her eyes, Laura declared Alex queen of the greenhouse and went to play with Salome, who ended up with a smudge of dirt on one cheek and Laura’s glasses balanced crookedly on her button nose. Alex had turned back from her soilpots at the sound of Laura’s giggles, and had run for her sketchpad and pencils to document the adorable scene once she’d recovered from her own bout of laughter.

A few more pages filled up with Salome pointing at a butterfly that fluttered nearby, and of the two brunettes napping on the pillows in a circle of sunshine. Alex had rested with them for nearly an hour before Jenna came to wake them for teatime.

Laura had groggily decided to turn in early, and a now awake Salome had gone off with Jenna while Alex took tea and her sketches in to share with Matt in his study. But the tea had barely cooled before Alex found herself wrapped in his arms, distracted by kisses until she felt the solid surface of his desk beneath her back.

“Darling,” she managed to breathe into his ear as he nibbled the side of her neck, “Don’t you, ah, have work to do?” His teeth found the sensitive spot where her neck sloped into her shoulder and she arched into him with a moan.

“Told you before,” he growled into her skin, “this place practically runs itself. And besides,” he murmured as he laid a necklace of kisses across her collarbones, “how am I supposed to get anything done with you here?”

A giggle that fast gave way to a breathless exhalation preceded her question. “But sweetie… on your _desk?_ ”

“No better place for it.” He pulled back to look at her, even as his hands skimmed down to gather up the ends of her skirt into his palms, making her shiver as the cool air brushed over her skin. “My desk is where I take care of all my most _pressing_ business,” he explained as he set her heels up on the polished edge and settled between her thighs with a gentle thrust. “And at the moment, I can think of nothing more pressing to take care of than you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this? 2 loved up chapters in as many days? I know. I'm spoiling you.  
> you guys have been overwhelming in your supportive response and I wanted to say thank you.  
> *hugs you all and kidnaps your comments to cuddle*
> 
> also, I'm about to hit 40K words. how did *that* happen?


	22. Chapter 22

My apologies if the sight of an update got anyone's hopes up. I tried to get another chapter ready before I left- really I did- but circumstances conspired. You guys have been really amazing- no one could ask for better readers. But this is going on hiatus for a while. It is **NOT** being abandoned; I want to make that clear. But a few days earlier than anticipated, I am going to a new location with no internet access. I'm not due back until mid-August.

I do have more written of both my multi-chapters, and will continue to edit and tweak them in my spare time, and if I have the time and ability to find a spot with a wi-fi connection, cross my keyboard- I'll haul my laptop over and post. Otherwise... yeah. Mid- August. Whereupon I should be at least able to post with regularity until I'm done.

You guys have truly been the best and I hope you stick with me til I come back. Because you have my word: I will be back.


	23. Chapter 23

It had been three weeks since Honeymoon Mark Two, and things were still going… well. Smoothly and softly and with an adorably fervent frequency, Matt made love to his wife with an enthusiasm she was learning it was acceptable to match. In addition to his desk, they had also christened Alex's windowseat in the library, the cushioned bench in the solarium, and the sturdy oak table in the rear of the kitchen (after the staff had been dismissed for the evening, of course.)

But alas, the estate could not run itself indefinitely. With a press of his lips to Alex’s, Matt had sadly trudged to his study after breakfast to take care of some pressing business.

And so it was that following Salome's morning feeding, Laura had looped her arm in Alex’s and suggested a turn in the Gallery. The first few rotations were performed in companionable silence, until Alex heard the fourth sigh in a quarter hour from her normally upbeat sister-in-law.

It took three more turns before Laura began to open up, and as the source of her distress revealed itself, Alex began to understand her taciturnity. Being unhappy in love- or rather unhappy out of love- was a difficult position as the rock and hard place one found oneself between had a tendency to mash together at painfully inconvenient times while one awaited rescue.

“Ohhh,” Laura groaned. “I’m probably not explaining this right. I just… know what I’m looking for, because I know I haven’t found it yet. Does that make any sense?”

Alex hugged Laura into her side, resting her head against the other woman’s shoulder. “Of course it does. I know what it is to be without love at all, and what it is to have a great love, and what it is to be without it once more. When you find it, it’s a… haven or an-”

“Oasis,” Laura murmured distractedly. “It’s a safe place to be happy and warm. Without it, you’re like a ship that’s lost its moorings. Adrift on the ocean…”

Now it was Alex’s turn to break in, tears stinging at her eyes as she recalled a line from her precious communications. “ _Sunburned and thirsty and not daring to hope I would survive…_ ” She concluded, unaware she’d spoken aloud until she felt the resistance of Laura’s halted form pull at her arm. Blinking, she tipped her head and regarded her sister-in-law. “What is it?”

“Where did you hear that?” Laura asked in a low voice, not soft and not quite calm, though Alex could not understand why. She pressed a hand to Laura’s shoulder before replying.

“Where did I hear what, dear?”

“That line about… being without love. It just… mirrors my thoughts so well, I wondered if you’d heard it or maybe… _read_ it somewhere.” Laura’s casual explanation (almost forcefully neutral) seemed at odds with the brilliant focus in her gaze as she studied Alex.

“It was in a letter from my husband.”

Laura opened her mouth to speak, shut it, then repeated the process before dropping her gaze to a thread working loose on her cuff. “Which… husband? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“Florian,” Alex offered with a shrug. “Matt has no reason to write me. Why?”

“Oh no great matter,” Laura said, a tight smile pinned on her lips as she met her eye. Clearing her throat, she patted Alex’s arm. “Excuse me, will you, dear? I’ll meet up later.”

Alex barely had time to call out an affirmative before the door was swinging shut behind her dizzying relation. Having no idea of what might have prompted the behavior, Alex headed upstairs to check on her daughter.

~~~

Matt was on his third round of correspondence from the London solicitors and about to say “chuck it” to the lot of them and go scrounge up some biscuits when the door to his study burst open. Laura took three steps past the threshold and kicked it shut behind her with a furious little squinch on her face.

“Lor, what on earth-“

“What in the name of sanity goes on in that head of yours?”

“What are you talking about?”

“How did Alex know your poetry? We were just talking in the gallery and I made a comment and Alex finished the line. How does she know a line of your schoolroom poetry?”

“Lor, honestly, I have no idea-”

She leapt in again. “You wanted to be a sailor then, and everything was water and ships and islands with you. You said it was like you were sunburnt and thirsty and lost, and love was the oasis that could save you if you reached it. How did Alex know about that?” Her hands planted themselves on her hips as she tipped her head to one side with a look that would do Jenna proud. “Or rather how did her _husband_ know about that, since she said she read it on one of his letters?

Matt swallowed- a feat given the continent that had suddenly sprung up in his throat. The ticking of the mantelclock was matched in tempo by the tap of Laura’s slippered toes. “Well-“

“Either you told him about it or he stole it from you outright- which would be impossible since you left your poetry journals here… Unless of course _you_ wrote her-” She straightened as the thought hit her brain. “Oh my God. That’s it, isn’t it?”

He slumped back in his chair, rigid posture deflating like a punctured ego. His sigh only served as confirmation and Laura’s eyes went wide. In two steps she was at the desk, her hands pressed to the paper strewn surface as she leaned in.

“You have to tell her, Matt. You _have_ to,” she said insistently. “She deserves to know, and you know the truth will come out one way or another.”

“Lor…” he began, unsure of what to say. But his sister had always been the best at reading him.

“What’s wrong?”

“She fell in love with the man in those letters.”

“Exactly! She fell in love with you!”

“But she doesn’t know that.” His voice was soft but shot with threads of restrained pain. “She grieved a long time over losing him- even if he didn’t deserve it.” When she opened her mouth to break in, he held up his hand. “I don’t want to tear him down to take his place. I want her to fall in love with me. The real me.” He swept a hand in his general direction. “This me. Even with this ridiculous face.”

Laura had straightened away from his desktop, and stood regarding him with crossed arms and a gentle expression. “Hey, don’t knock the ridiculous head that I love.”

One corner of his mouth quirked up, then dropped back down. “Still, though. I want to… deserve her. I want to be worthy of that love.”

“Oh baby brother.” Eyes suspiciously bright, she stepped around the desk, perched on the arm of his chair, and wrapped her arms around him. “My dear little idiot- you’re already worthy. Alex deserves to be loved by you. And you deserve to be loved exactly for who you are." The sigh she heaved was fraught with emotion and unspoken things. "Just... promise me you’ll tell her soon.”

She sat cradling him a while, and he relaxed into the rocking embrace as he had when he was small, letting Laura mother him and card her fingers through his hair. Settling an arm around the small of her back, he sighed and said, “I promise.” And he meant it.

Really. He had.

His resolve held firm with each stair he climbed, with each step down the hallway to their bedchamber. It held firm and steadfast as he grasped the door handle and let himself in.

It held firm…  “Alex, there’s something I need to tell you…” until he looked up and saw her.

His resolve shattered like penny glass and his voice was robbed from his throat as her dressing gown was shed to reveal a stunning nightgown in a pale green shot with gold. It shimmered in the firelight, making her look like liquid jade, a dancing green flame. He swallowed hard. Twice.

Her head inclined to one side, loose curls a riot of golden energy about her head. “What is it?” She asked, taking a sip from the wineglass in her hand.

“I uh… What’s the occasion?” He asked, gesturing to the crystal goblet.

Not quite meeting his eye, she traced the lip of the glass with a fingertip. "Well I know you had a trying day. I thought we could sip some wine, maybe talk a while... relax."

"Oh. Thank you." He registered another oddity about the room. “Where’s Salome?”

She looked up with a small smile. "Oh Jenna was nice enough to take her off for the night. I know how much you adore her, but I thought it might do us good to… have a little time to ourselves." The strap on one side of her nightgown slipped off her shoulder as she rolled them, a little gesture of uncertainty. Her suddenly faltering gaze, shy as she examined the ruby contents of the glass, hit him like a shot.

“I wanted to be able to give you my undivided attention. In case you felt like talking, or… anything else,” she concluded, her eyes meeting his with an electric clarity.

 _Oh. Oh, my._ In the weeks they've been together, Alex had been responsive, enthusiastic, and completely thrilling. She was warm and pliant and gaining confidence. Whenever he settled her astride him, she took the reins admirably, but never had she initiated... beyond a kiss or touch. This was... something like seduction, and his brain was rapidly melting into treacle at the realization.

He knew enough to remember he should tell her. She needed to know, he needed to tell. But in that moment, the light in her eyes, the happiness in her expression at seeing him, broke his confidence and he shied from the opportunity like a horse at a high jump. He suddenly had so far to fall, and couldn't bear to have the light that had only just begun to return depart again.

She deserved to be happy, to shine radiant and true. If he killed that, he’d never forgive himself. And so he let the moment go by, telling himself there would be time to correct it. Ignoring the fact that the more time that passed, the worse the fallout might be.

She swallowed another sip of wine before a wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Mm- what was it you wanted to tell me?”

Pasting a smile on his face and shrugging out of his coat, he shook his head and began undoing his cravat as he moved to join her. “I just… wanted to tell you how lovely you look in green. It suits you… very much.” He held his breath a moment, praying she wouldn't question how that could be his answer _before_ he entered the room.

But a combination of luck, charm and 60 year old Vin du Bordeaux was on his side. The flush of warmth that suffused her cheeks with color shone in her eyes as well. The pupils dilated the slightest bit, darkening against the pale irises. “Thank you, sweetie. I... wore it just for you.”

He took the glass of wine she extended, accidentally gulping a decent mouthful in his haste. He swallowed it down then passed the glass back to Alex. She took a much smaller sip and turned to set the glass on a nearby table before turning back and taking a step closer.

There was only the slightest tremble in her hands as she reached for him. One small hand cradled the side of his face, the other slipped beneath the newly opened neck of his shirt to rest against his rapidly heating skin. A little hitch in her breath, a tiny swipe of her tongue over her lips, and she stretched up and kissed him. Her fingers slid up into his hair as his hands found her hips, pulling her close as the kiss deepened in a heady explosion of wine and desire on their tongues.

 _Oh yes._ He could always tell her later…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaa-aack! you guys have been amazing and I'm so happy you've been willing to stick by me. so I have a new chapter as a reward.  
> there's more to come, so hang on to your hats. and I'll get to replying to comments in the next day or so. you guys are wonderful. *hugs you all*


	24. Chapter 24

A few days passed in uneventful quiet before an unexpected topic came up at the dining table.

“When is your birthday, Alex?” Laura pondered out of the blue. The trio were chatting over a luncheon of greens and shepherd’s pie that Catherine had declared “rustic” and refused to eat; conversation had flown freely once she’d stalked out of the room with a sniff.

Matt opened his mouth to answer, then snapped it shut before Alex noticed.

“11 March, dear,” Alex replied. “I’ve never been one to celebrate since my parents died, and Florian was away for it. He probably wasn’t the celebrating type in any case, but I had a good book to read.”

Laura let her jaw hang at the announcement, her blue eyes misting. "Alone on your birthday? You poor darling."

Alex took a sip of the milk she'd chosen in lieu of the robust wine Laura had selected, and swallowed before speaking again. "I had Salome for company."

The brunette swiftly sobered into a scoffing smirk. "She was still in utero, dear- that doesn't exactly count."

Matt choked on a bite of carrots and peas as Alex let out a scandalized giggle, her cheeks flaring with a blush. "Laura! _Honestly._ It was fine- I was... fine. Circumstances were as they were, and it's hardly a momentous occasion anyway when one gets to be my age."

"That simply won't do, Alex." Laura set her fork down with a decisive _clink_ and stage whispered to her brother, “We should have a half birthday or something. Some reason to show her off to the neighbors.”

Alex shook her head, curls bouncing with the movement. “We tried that already, Laura. Remember? Not even a bit very not good.”

Laura gave a negligent flip of her hand. "That was Catherine’s doing. We all know I’m much nicer." She ignored Matt's muted snort into his glass and continued mining the vein. "Besides, we didn’t really celebrate Matty’s this year either- unless you count scones and jammy dodgers an appropriate birthday supper.” Matt started to open his mouth but Laura cut him off. “I know you could eat them for every meal but there was just the two of us and we ate them at 2 in the morning. Hardly qualifies, dear brother.”

Alex puzzled at her husband a moment before asking, “When was yours?”

“28 October, but s’alright,” he said with a shrug.

“Why didn’t you-” Alex broke off when she realized she already knew the answer of why he hadn’t told her. It had been at the end of their month, when they hadn’t been speaking… _and why would he tell me anyway?_ Her cheeks flamed as her gaze dropped to her plate.

Laura’s voice was gently excited as it broke the uncomfortable silence in the room. “Why don’t we have a party? We’ll do it up, sort of a mash of Twelfth Night and Christmastide and Matt’s birthday- yours too if you like. Greenery everywhere- I do miss the pines and holly- and spiced punch and a proper feast.”

Warming to her suggestion, Laura’s eyes took on that celestial brilliance that Alex had seen their first meeting, and she again marveled that anyone could think the girl unlovely.

“And we can decorate a tree, and make gingerbread. And presents will be optional, but we’ll do a little thing- just us before, or maybe the morning after. And Salome will look darling in this little pattern I saw in Godey’s- oh, let me have Jenna whip it up!” Her hands were clasped under her chin and her eyes were wide as she turned to Alex for approval.

Apparently the look that melted mothers' hearts for centuries managed to sway sisters-in-law as well, since Alex was giggling a yes even as she rolled her eyes at Laura’s dramatics. Looking quite pleased with herself, Laura picked up her wineglass and took a healthy sip. "It'll be brilliant- you'll see."

Alex turned back to her plate with a smile and a shake of her head, already letting the kernel of an idea sprout up for a present the siblings might enjoy.

For his part, Matt just ate quietly, watching his wife in fascination and missing the similar regard his sister was showing him.

Of course, they might've reacted a bit differently if they'd known _then_ what that night would hold in store. (It was unlikely any of them would've changed their minds outright... but it definitely would've given them pause.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> allo again. figured since I doubled up on Mr and Mrs Smith, I'd be fair and come over to post a new one here too. the *next* chapter is taking a bit of tweaking, but I'll try to have it up quick. and it'll probably end up being two anyway, plus the morning after- so really I'm working on three. bear with me, okay?


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's party time! P-A-R-T...Y? because apparently I owe you guys a chapter.

The night of the party, Alex and Matt alternated greeting guests and holding Salome, only surrendering her to Laura or Jenna’s waiting arms when the urge to dance overtook them. The local gentry cooed over the child, who solemnly watched everything except her family and the tree- both of whom she expressed clear delight over.

A towering spruce was covered in hand carved ornaments, and delicate glass globes, and tiny portraits. Berries and fragrant clusters of herbs, gingerbread men and animal crackers hung among small toys, and candles and twines of ribbon and bows made it look like a gigantic present. The trio had taken three days to decorate it with the servants, everyone presenting a small token to represent family or friends or special memories.

A keepsake miniature of John had appeared on the tree one morning, threaded on a silver ribbon-though Catherine refused to mention it. In fact she had refused to help with the planning at all beyond critiquing the menu and trying to commandeer spare invites for her acquaintances.

Aromatic garlands festooned the bannisters and archways, ribbons in crimson and blue wound their way up columns, and holly and pine cones sat clustered in conversation on the mantelpieces. Two tables at opposite ends of the ballroom held topiaries, wreaths and carefully crafted creations of berries and fruits, as well as the various presents brought by their guests. The other tables and sideboards were laden with a feast of lamb, turkey, game hen and venison, potatoes, parsnips, steamed and stewed vegetables and strange dishes involving cheese.

In addition to the preserves, biscuits, cakes, and pies already there, Alex contributed to the sweets table with jammy dodgers and 2 apple strudels – made with some of the put up apples from the orchard harvests. Jenna had produced two versions of a French concoction quite popular in London called a soufflé- one chocolate, the other a vanilla crème with an orange glaze.

Local help had been hired in for the night so the servants could have the night off- free to enjoy the party if they wished or keep to their own activities. Jenna and a few of the maids danced with very nice gentlemen in the crowd, and Matt collected the tiny housekeeper for a country dance while Alex took a turn at a minuet with a footman.

Salome was adorable in a tiny gown of black taffeta, hand painted with a holly design. Laura looked like an ice princess in a shoulder baring column of pale iridescent blue, hair curled and twisted up with diamond pins, a glittering cage of scrolling filigree at her throat. And Alex was in velvet, a deep forest green embroidered with a holly and ivy motif in silver and pale green. Her eyes flashed like gemstones and her upswept hair- more red against the lush fabric- was woven with an emerald ribbon and adorned with a holly stake. She was resplendent, Diana in her orb. Matt’s own choice of black superfine relieved only by an emerald waistcoat and bowtie set her off perfectly.

The party had been in swing for nearly two hours when a crashing tap of the majordomo’s cane announced the entrance of the Lowes. Alex froze where she stood, Salome quiet in her arms as the crowd parted like a curtain to reveal the new arrivals. Angelica wore a gown of spreading puce at least 5 years out of style, ropes of freshwater pearls, and a tight smile as her eyes cast about for the nearest fainting couch. Carter wore flawless white tie, accented with diamond studs and a silver monocle on a black satin tie. It was Daisy, however, who commanded everyone’s eye.

Despite the apropos match of their garb to the festive occasion, the two screamed night and day from head to toe. If Alex was a coolly beautiful blonde Mother Nature, Daisy was a dark Fury - or some other destructive force of fiery seduction.

She was dressed in a daring gown the exact shade of the stationery she still sent to the house. Gloves in a similarly sanguine shade- rather than the typical black or snowy white- hugged up her arms, set off by the gleaming jewels at her wrists and throat. The pigeon’s blood rubies in her ears flashed when Catherine broke through the stunned silent crowd to welcome the family and pulled the younger brunette into a fond embrace.

Every eye in the place swung to the host and hostess for a cue. Alex stood numbly until Matt crossed to her side. A silent conversation seemed to pass between the spouses, concluding with a slight nod from Alex and a sigh from Matt before they turned to greet their newest… guests.

Catherine led the trio over with a triumphant smirk that made the other three Smiths in attendance itch to smack it off. Simple greetings were exchanged in frigidly civil tones, and Daisy reached out a finger to tickle Salome beneath the chin- which prompted the girl to let out a loudly disapproving squeal that sent Angelica sinking towards the floor.

She was revived and taken off to a chaise to recover, and the crowd breathed a collective sigh of relief as the rest of the cluster dispersed into the room. The party resumed, and if anyone noticed every Smith but Catherine avoiding the newcomers like a disease, they possessed the appropriate tact not to mention it above a whisper.

It was over an hour later that Alex took her leave to settle her overtired daughter for the night, brushing off Matt’s offer to help with an admonition to stay and attend their guests. His barely suppressed pout at thwarted escape was soothed by a press of her lips to his cheek and a sleepy tug on his watchfob by Salome before they slipped out of the room.

Laura was laughing over a glass of champagne with her charming dance partner when Matt sidled into her sightline. Over her escort’s shoulder, her eyes caught her brother’s and she gestured him toward the hallway with a little flick of her head. He brightened and meandered through the crush towards the rear doors… not guessing the interaction had not gone unnoticed by the females chatting conspiratorially in the corner.

Mere moments after his dark clad form slipped out into the hall, a figure followed like a crimson shadow...


	26. Chapter 26

Matt had just reached the servants’ stairway at the rear of the north hall when he heard a footfall behind him. He whipped around to see Daisy, her satin skirts whispering like a Greek chorus as she descended on him.

“Matty, it’s been an age,” she cooed at him. “Why did you not come and speak to me in the ballroom? Surely your new bride does not keep you on so short a tether.” Her pretty moue of displeasure reeked of calculated effect, and he rankled at the overly familiar nickname.

“Miss Lowe, it has indeed been a long time- **too** long for so… informal an address. And certainly too long for a conversation of such intimate circumstance. If you’ll excuse me…” he concluded, sketching a tight bow in her direction before turning to go.

A loud gasp exploded from her lips at the dismissal. The sound caused him to whip back in alarm, but she had schooled her features into a coy smile by the time their eyes met. “Oh, come now. We were friends once…” Her lashes dropped in a fanning flutter before flaring wide to pin him with a look laced with hope. “More than. Surely we can address one another with cordiality that better suits our history.”

Matt felt his shoulders tense. It was a convincing act- one he’d unfortunately seen before. “Miss Lowe, whatever our history, this conversation is most inappropriate- both in content and setting. I suggest you return to the ballroom and my _wife_ and I shall be there directly.”

A burst of boisterous chatter from a cluster of wandering partygoers issued from the end of the hall. “Quick!” Daisy latched onto his elbow and steered him into a parlor before he could blink. The laughter of the guests drew closer as Daisy leaned back against the solid oak of the door, sealing them in with a muted click.

Matt swallowed and opened his mouth to speak but she swept a finger to her lips as the noise grew louder; the group was just outside the door. They held their breath until a servant issued a subtle directive to the misplaced group and the voices faded once more into the distance. A breathless chuckle of relief broke from them both before Matt remembered the situation and cleared his throat.

“Ahem, I thank you for your… quick thinking, but we really should return.” Matt reached the door as Daisy strolled into the room, apparently quite at her leisure. “Very well. I shall make your excuses. Good night.” Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her delay, he yanked the door open- only to halt mid-step when she spoke again.

“It’s alright, you know. Catherine told me.” Her intimating tone sent a chill up his spine and he rotated on the balls of his feet to regard her warily.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re-”

Her hands clasped behind her back and her head tilted into a smirk. “Come now- there’s no need for pretense with me.” She took a bold step forward. “I told you- it’s alright.”

“Miss Lowe—”

“Daisy,” she interrupted insistently, shrinking the gap by another few feet.

“Miss Lowe, I have no idea what warped views my sister-in-law has painted of my personal life, but I do not care for your implications. Not that it is any of your business but my wife and I are quite happy together.”

Her laugh was melodic but cold, like the clink of icicles, and her dusky curls danced as she tossed her head in amusement. “Oh Matt, please. A woman of inferior birth nearly a decade your senior, saddled with a squalling infant and a fixation on her dead husband that borders on the macabre?” She closed the distance between them to lay a hand on his arm; even through the fabric, he fought a shiver of revulsion at the touch and scrambled back out of reach. Her face tightened a moment, then softened in a perfect replica of sympathetic concern. “A woman who turned you out of her bed for nearly two weeks? How _can_ you claim to be happy with someone like that?”

So focused on controlling the sudden homicidal rages bursting onto his brain - _he really is going to throttle Catherine_ – that he missed the flick of Daisy’s eyes over his shoulder… to the still open doorway. Her next words brought him back to reality.

“You considered _ **me** _ your match once- the perfect pair. We could be again. I could make you so much happier than she could ever dream- than she would ever try.”

The protest that sprang to his lips was crushed against the ruby-tinted mouth that suddenly appeared. Hungry fingers curled into his lapels and the hair at his nape as he found himself pressed against lean femininity. It lasted a second; it lasted a lifetime.

His hands were latched around her wrists, dislodging her just in time to register the muted gasp over his shoulder. Matt wheeled to spot a flash of green disappearing around the doorframe. Swearing violently, he dropped Daisy’s wrists as though scalded- and he was a bit, by the shame of being caught in such a stupid trap.

Drawing in slow breaths to tamp down the rising bile in his stomach, Matt swiped his sleeve against his mouth and felt a small touch on his shoulder. He flinched at the contact, reaching back without looking to grab her arm. Careful only to touch the fabric of her pristine glove, he directed her down the hall and into the ballroom, depositing her with a shove in the direction of her parents.

For the second time that night, conversation ground to a halt to watch the Lowe scene unfolding. “Mr. and Mrs. Lowe, I thank you for your… gracious as ever company, and I apologize for the abrupt end to your evening," Matt said, in a tightly controlled tone that bore no warmth but a chilling civility. "However, I suggest you escort your daughter home immediately, and not let her out again until she can learn to mind herself in polite society.”

A gasp went up from the crowd at the muted implications of his words- and the suspiciously red fullness of the mouth that spoke them. Daisy flushed to match her dress, while her mother adopted a shade similar to her own gown.

“Matthew, please don’t be so ridiculous. You can’t treat my guests this way,” Catherine scolded in a voice loud enough to carry in the quiet room. The look in his eyes as he turned them on her made her quail a bit, though she stiffened her spine and strove to look haughtily complacent. She looked like a plump crow- all ruffled black and stiff plumage.

“Catherine, how I treat _my_ guests in _my_ home is _my_ business. But since as you so astutely point out these are not _my_ guests, I must still ask them to leave my home if I feel their behavior is not to my liking- as is my right.” His voice lowered dangerously. “As I would’ve been well within my rights to do when they first arrived… not being _my_ guests.”

The challenge hung between them a moment. Catherine opened her mouth to speak, but Matt beat her to it.

“If your desire for… Lowe company continues unabated, allow me to reiterate my proposal that you go visit them for a while.” His tone and the hard set of his features defied anyone to argue. “Good. It’s settled. I’ll send your trunks along in the morning. Now if the rest of you would pray excuse me-”

He returned to the hall seeking his wife, sending word via a passing servant to have his sister-in-law’s trunks packed and delivered to the Lowes after breakfast.

He wavered between the main stairs and the rear hall a moment before dashing down the back way. By a stroke of luck, he captured Alex coming back down the rear stairs. He caught her wrist when she turned to flee back upstairs, tugging her into the rear parlor and kicking the door closed behind them.

She yanked her wrist out of his hand with a gasp as though he'd wrenched at a broken bone, and put a few paces of safe distance between them. Her red rimmed eyes looked everywhere but at him.

He sighed and drove a hand through his hair as he explained what really happened- no matter how it may have looked- and tried to reassure her she had nothing to worry about. And oh, how she wanted to believe him. It did make a devious sort of sense for Daisy to have pulled such a trick, and Matt had never really given her cause to doubt him or the sincerity of his affections.

Her mouth opened to say that of course he was forgiven- always, completely- until the scene replayed in her mind. The muffled words from the half open doorway as she came down the stairs. The recognition of Matt's voice saying "happy together." The sudden clarity as she stepped closer in time to hear Daisy's litany of slanders against her- and an absence of defense from her husband. The way those deadly dark eyes seemed to snap in her direction before that kiss. _Oh god, that kiss._ That flash of time- stretched out to a torturous eternity in her mind- had been filled by turns with an urge to slap her wandering husband, rip every sable lock out of the girl's head, grab her daughter and run back to Kingston Hall, and throw up on the carpet as her stomach plummeted with a sickening drop to her shoes.

But Daisy’s words and the kiss played sorely on Alex’s vulnerabilities, and so she ran. She had only come back down to sneak a message to Laura, so they could have a proper goodbye before she fled, when Matt had snagged her. Now she stood silently curling in on herself… until Matt wiped his mouth with a handkerchief- which he promptly tossed into the fireplace- and hauled her into his arms. She barely had time to make a squeal of protest before his mouth was on hers- gentle at first, trying to calm her, then a bit more passionately.

Her nails bit into her palms as she fought not to curl her fingers into his lapels, knowing Daisy had done it. She turned her head, breaking the kiss to breathlessly ask, “What are you doing?”

One hand on her cheek guided her head back to face him. Her eyes closed against the sensation, then opened. His gaze was earnest as he met hers unflinching. “Trying to erase every last trace of her,” he said simply.

Matt lowered his head and kissed her again, even as she started to struggle a bit- until he unwound his arms and simply cradled her face in his palms. Pressing one more tender kiss to her lips and his forehead against hers for a brief touch, he moved back- not releasing her but not stopping her either. She was free to leave… except that his eyes retained her as firmly as his arms had. And what she saw in those hazel depths spurred her forward, her curls brushing his fingers as her hands cradled his face. Her eyes never left his as she directed him back across the gap, and their gazes stayed locked as their mouths met until their vision swam and blurred from the proximity.

She pulled back a small ways, blinking to clear her head, and looked at him- one small scrap of uncertainty still lingering in her eyes. He wrapped his arms around her once more, gentle but firm, and pressed his forehead to hers as though to telegraph the thoughts from his mind to hers. "I promise," he breathed against her lips, "that there will never be anyone for me but you."

* * *

The next day, all the gossip swirling about the town centered on the Party the previous evening. The clothes, the decorations, the food, the guests, the darling little angel in the holly dress, the blending of the servants with their class- and the incidents surrounding the women in Matt Smith’s life. The disrupted machinations of his scheming sister-in-law, and her subsequent eviction. Ms. Daisy Lowe and her blistering ejection. The slight scandal caused by Miss Laura Jayne- formerly considered plain and bookish by the _ton_ until they’d seen her at the party, alight with laughter- dancing four ( **four!** ) separate dances with a handsome young banker from Leadworth named James Hollings.

And of course, the _piece de résistance_ \- the statement by a member of the Old Guard who had wandered into a rear parlor by mistake and seen the host and hostess ravishing each other on the Aubusson carpet. Completely uncorroborated but delicious all the same…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so sorry about the delay, guys! family trip to Montana. but I'm back. next chapter on the way: it's time for presents!


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> time for presents!

Despite the late night they’d shared, the Smith siblings all but tackled Alex in bed the following morning. Fortunately, Matt had coaxed Alex into a dressing gown with a warm kiss before slipping out of the room to rouse his sister.

A few servants brought in various trays of food, and the threesome shared a pillow picnic until Salome demanded her own breakfast. Excusing herself to the washroom, Alex returned in a forest green nightgown tattooed with an Oriental design of Imperial red and brought Salome to join them as they tangled back together.

The siblings must have dashed during the feeding, for there was a pile of presents in the middle of the bed. One eyebrow slid up, but she said nothing, instead handing Salome over to her aunt with a fond smile and stepping to her armoire.

When she pulled up a panel in the main chamber and produced her gifts, she heard Matt’s squawk of disbelief. “I can’t- you said you weren’t hiding presents in there! I even peeked!”

Alex’s smile simply grew wider as she added to the pile and climbed back onto the bed. Laura took the opportunity to point out to Salome how very silly Uncle Matt was for thinking he could outsmart her mummy, and Salome burbled her agreement- to Matt’s huffing consternation and the ladies’ delight.

The siblings decided Alex should go first, but after that there was little rhyme or reason to the opening order- a present was selected by whomever had just opened one and handed to its recipient. Piles of shimmering paper, mounds of crinkling tissue, and yards of ribbons littered the bed in no time.

A new travel case and chain for Laura’s spectacles sat atop a pile of books ranging from novels to plays to archaeological texts, all to be shared by the three. A stuffed rabbit was occupying Salome, despite her occasionally drowsy dips towards the pile of new clothes she’d received. Both women in his life had given him waistcoats (a plummy paisley satin from Alex and a watered silk of sea foam from his sister) and utterly outrageous socks- vibrant green and daffodil yellow and stripes in four separate color patterns from grey and white to a dazzling orange and peach; he’d laughed with delight at each new pair.

A delicate silver bracelet with a design of twining leaves and vines sat winking on Laura’s wrist, while diamond and emerald earbobs peeked through Alex’s curls. Each had received a new gown to match as well. Matt really did have spectacular taste in clothes.

There was a knock on the door and Jenna entered, followed by a footman carrying a small crate. Alex’s eyes lit up as she directed it to the mattress’s edge, and she thanked them both profusely before the pair departed. The siblings sat eyeing her curiously.

“What is it?” They asked simultaneously. Alex merely smiled and slid the lid off, handing an object wrapped in brown paper to Matt before trading the other to Laura for her now slumbering daughter.

Their gazes swung from Alex to the packages to each other, before tearing in to the paper with matching grins of delight. They both stilled, smiles fading, and Alex’s teeth instantly worried her lower lip as the silence in the room began to stretch.

They looked at each other once more, then at Alex, then back at their presents. Laura looked as if she might cry.

“I… I just thought… I’m sorry,” Alex managed to breathe out. “They weren’t much but I had them sent to the framer because I was so sure you’d like- here. Let me take them back.” She extended a hand, but it fell at the fervent mirrored action of the pair clutching their presents tightly to their chest like stubborn children. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Laura’s watery eyes were pleading. “You can’t take them, Alex. They’re… **_perfect_**.” Matt turned a similarly shimmery gaze to her and nodded as well.

After a few more minutes of silent perusal, the siblings traded frames and saw the contents of the other’s present. Laura had been given a sketch of her day with Salome in the greenhouse. Blocked apart by a geometric pattern on a diagonal, the upper half of the frame was filled with Laura mid-laugh as Salome rested in her lap, spectacles perched on her tiny nose and a smudge of dirt on one cheek. It was a moment of sheer delight, rendered in such a way it looked as though they might start to move at any time.

Matt felt his heart squeeze as his eyes traveled to the lower corner. Salome lay cuddled with Laura in a cradle of flowers, the two brunettes captured in shared slumber as tiny butterflies fluttered overhead- a beautiful blend of the real and fantastic.

The backs of Laura’s fingers pressed themselves against a tender smile as she saw that Matt had been gifted a sketch Alex must have done from memory- the moment could not have lasted long enough to get down at once. Done in profile, Matt was seated on the floor, Salome propped against his bent knee as the two regarded each other with serious warmth. His back against the edge of the sofa in his study, Matt was in his shirtsleeves and stocking feet, casually handsome and honestly drawn- but as seen by a clearly loving eye.

They looked like a father and daughter, like parts of a real family, and Alex had managed to capture the loving light in Matt’s eyes and the solemn adoration in her daughter’s.

Laura stared at it so long the image began to blur, until small drops of moisture splashed against the glass and she raised her head to look at her sister with damp cheeks and a tremulous smile.

Alex tipped her head and regarded her gently, then leaned over and laid Salome between the gap in the pillows. She settled back down a bit closer to the sniffling brunette set, who shared a brief glance with each other before tackling her in a fierce four-armed hug- which Alex fervently returned. The bounce sent the tower of tomes crashing to the floor, and the noise plus the subsequent giggling woke Salome, who loudly protested being left out of the frivolity.

Heedless of the crush of expensive fabrics and tissue papers beneath them, the trio disbanded long enough to shift and flop down next to the sniffling girl. Laura lay on her back on one side- her finger already occupying Salome’s questing fist- and Matt and Alex curled up on the other, snuggled up on their sides facing the pair. Matt’s arm pillowed Alex’s head as his fingers traced the loops of the baby’s soft curls, and Salome’s other fist was soon wrapped around her mother’s.

They lay like that a while, a family amid shiny wrappings, simply content to be together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I was being so nice to my little family, I thought I'd be nice and give you guys a present too.  
> I'd had this in mind for a while, but couldn't figure out where to go after the siblings unwrapped Alex's presents to them. hope it ended okay.  
> speaking of endings, I'm not positive how many more chapters there are to go, but the end is in sight. *deep breath*   
> and in the meantime, there's... a little red storm cloud brewing on the horizon.


	28. Chapter 28

The New Year had dawned bright and clear after a midnight toasting of champagne, shared by the servants for good luck in the coming annum. Matt commissioned local workers to begin converting the adjoining chamber into a nursery for Salome, and everyone was getting used to the fresh air that had replaced the stultifying atmosphere Catherine usually stirred. It had been nearly a fortnight since the Ball, and her presence had not been missed.

Matt was glad that the holdings of the Gallifreyan empire were due to have healthy returns in the new quarter, Laura had been waltzing a few feet off the ground due to a continuing correspondence with her new banker, and Alex had been glowing under the love and happiness surrounding her family… until Wednesday.

There had been some concern when Alex had awoken two days prior with cramping and nausea that bordered on the horrific. Unable to keep anything down and set off by nearly everything, she had finally managed a cup of chamomile tea and one whole piece of toast the night before. Matt checked on her constantly throughout, holding her as she retched and heaved, stroking her brow with a cool cloth, touching her frequently and cuddling her when permitted- as though willing her to get well by osmosis.

Being driven to distraction by solicitous Smith siblings, Alex had convinced the pair that a quiet day at home would do her a world of good, and so persuaded Laura to join Matt as he went off to town to deal with some small matter of estate business and check on a delayed shipment of seedlings Alex needed for the greenhouse. She loved the pair dearly, but still breathed a sigh of relief when the carriage wheels rattled clear of the gravel drive.

Bundled up in a squashy nest of covers and pillows, Alex read for most of the morning, intermittently staring out the window at nothing in particular. A short nap following Salome’s feeding left her feeling much revived, and she chanced the short trip downstairs to stretch her legs and head to the kitchen for some of Cook’s ginger biscuits.

She had just cleared the hall when the rumble of an approaching carriage reached her. It was far too soon for the Smiths to return, and Alex wasn't up to company. About to tug on the bell-pull, she was halted by the door flying open to admit a stream of footmen laden with luggage and two squabbling females. Alex ducked back into a small alcove at the foot of the stairs and prayed to escape notice. The pair bickered a while in the hall at a volume that echoed off the vaulted ceiling, mostly about Daisy's "unfair inability to tolerate a lengthier visit," before Catherine swanned up to her room barking orders about her trunks.

Alex's breath of relief as Daisy prepared to leave caught in her throat when the younger woman turned and spotted her in the hallway. Looking fresh as her namesake (save for a faint shadowing not quite covered by her powder) Daisy sashayed into the foyer and struck a pose straight out of a Godey’s print.

"Tsk, tsk," she clucked. “My dear Lady Smith, have you been quite well? You look… every _day_ your age.”

Alex felt color suffuse her previously pale cheeks, and drew in a deep breath. As she exhaled, her spine stiffened and her chin lifted to a nearly defiant angle and she took a few steps in Daisy’s direction with a serene smile. “Thank you for your concern. I am much recovered, Miss Lowe... Although not _quite_ to the volume level you and my sister-in-law were sharing a short while ago.”

Daisy’s face pinched a moment then she smoothed it out like a wrinkle in her dress. “I didn’t think it was fair to keep her all to myself. She is, after all, _your_ family.”

A refusal sprang to Alex's lips but she tamped it down in time to notice a glittering darkness spark in Daisy's eyes. "And speaking of family, a little bird told me Laura has been having quite the postal affair with that new banker from Leadworth. Daddy’s thinking of bringing him over to the company, you know. He’d be posted right outside of town.”

An alarum bell was clanging faintly in the distance but Alex cautiously replied anyway. “I’m sure Laura would be thrilled with such a change in proximity. And Matt and I liked Mr. Hollings well enough. It would certainly be… altruistic of you, Daisy. And your father, of course.”

"Of course." Daisy’s lips pulled into a simpering smirk. “And once Daddy had Mr. Hollings installed, Mother would insist on having him over for dinner. And what with him being so new in town, I’d personally take on the duty of filling him in on all the little ‘need to know’s. Make sure he makes all the right contacts, gets off on the right foot, things like that."

She paused to tap a gloved fingertip to her chin, as though just realizing some worrisome detail. "Oh... But then, once he’s heard the whisperings about Laura’s rather unconventional interests, and all those oh-so-intriguing tidbits that seem to float back from her travels… well, I can't be at all certain he’d want to keep up that correspondence he’s been so keen on lately-"

A sharp _crack_ cut off the final bit of sentence, which fell forgotten to the ground in a dead heap. Daisy’s eyes and mouth rounded wide as her hand flew to the print blooming on her stinging cheek. Alex’s gaze dropped casually to her own tingling extremity before it tucked itself into a tightly quivering fist.

“Miss Lowe,” Alex began in a low, tight voice that spoke of deadly force barely controlled, “I think it’s time for you to leave. You’ve made a persistent fool of yourself with my husband, despite his staunch refusals to take back up with you. You made my daughter cry, you’ve insulted me and my home, and now you’re threatening the happiness of my sister.” Each new statement was punctuated with a step towards the spiteful girl in the foyer, who scrabbled for a dignified mien even as she matched Alex’s tread in a bizarre retreating dance.

“I understand Matthew made his feelings clear the night of the Ball, but allow me to add the **final** word on the matter. If you ever come here again without being expressly invited - and I wouldn’t hold my breath on that if I were you- if you threaten or attempt to harm any member of my family, and if you so much as  breathe in the direction of Laura and James, I will snatch you bald-headed and bury you alive under my alliums. Is that quite clear?”

So intent was her focus on the unearthly blaze of emerald fire in Alex’s eyes that the two arrived at the doorway without realizing. Daisy jumped a bit when her back met unyielding oak carved in a swirling pattern of wisteria and ivy vines. She managed a jerky nod as she fumbled behind herself for the handle, flinching when Alex stepped in close and turned it instead.

“I said," Alex reiterated in a sharp tone, "is that quite clear?”

“Yes," Daisy managed meekly. Alex raised a brow at the weak compliance, copying an expression of Jenna's for effect; it worked. Clearing her throat, Daisy clarified a little louder. "Yes, ma’am, cl-clear as crystal.”

“Good,” Alex replied smoothly as the door swung open and Daisy stumbled across the threshold to the front steps. “Good day," Alex finished perfunctorily as she let the door slam home.

Whirling on her heel, she dusted her hands off and made it exactly three steps before the world decided to pitch itself at a jaunty angle and she found herself sitting rather hastily on the floor. Quick footfalls approached and she spotted Jenna through the subtle haze in her peripheral. The housekeeper took Alex's elbow and drew her mistress up gently with a proud expression on her doll-like face.

“Perfect timing as always, Jenna,” Alex commented as the housekeeper threaded an arm around her waist and guided her towards the staircase.

“Just glad to be of service, milady. Now let’s get you back to bed and I’ll send Cecily up with a tray.”

They maneuvered to the first landing before Alex thought to ask, “You weren’t… around the entryway for very long before turning up… were you, Jenna?”

The diminutive dame waited until they’d mounted the last of the stairs before answering, “If I may be so bold to say, I think I was there just long enough, milady.”

Their eyes met and held and the arm Alex had around the girl’s shoulders tightened a moment before they continued on their way to the Master's suite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow. almost two months. I know- I'm terrible; writer's block and life are my only excuses.  
> just let my fever go down, and I'll hand out the tomatoes and head to the stock for my punishment. then take a shower and get the next chapter up.


	29. Chapter 29

It might have been her own tenderly forming attachment, or perhaps the subtle absence of a certain crimson correspondence that sparked the thought in Laura’s mind, but a preoccupation with Valentines soon developed to the point she felt compelled to share at the breakfast table. She'd been monologuing about truffles and pink hearts for nearly 20 minutes before breaking for a question.

“So are you two lovebirds doing anything for the big day?”

The pair in question glanced at one another, only to have their gazes hold in silent conversation until Alex’s cheeked pinked up prettily. Laura rolled her eyes affectionately and decided to sidestep _that_ slightly awkward subject.

“Yes, well I meant _besides_ the obvious.”

The tips of his ears only a little red, Matt managed to tear his eyes away from his wife long enough to regard his sister. “Well Lor, you obviously have something in mind. Why don’t you just share and end our suspense?”

She resisted the urge to stick out her tongue at him- but only just. “I wasn’t going to suggest another party- even if I do personally still hold that the last one was more a success than not. But I was thinking a dinner, just you two… and perhaps James and I,” she concluded with an unconvincingly nonchalant expression, smoothing the pad of her thumb over a fingernail.

Matt wasn’t fooled for a moment. “Oh, James? Really? Well, I think-”

“That it’s a lovely idea,” Alex broke in, recognizing an impending tease. “A simple dinner, maybe some roses, that pretty red damask tablecloth from the linen cupboard. We could exchange valentines after, if you like.”

After sending her sister-in-law a grateful grin, Laura turned her gaze back to her brother, a hint of pleading in her eyes. “And we could do those chocolate dipped berries you like so much for dessert, Matty.” He considered a moment, then opened his mouth as though something had occurred to him- but Laura held up a hand and beat him to it. “And no cupids- cross my heart. As long as we can do valentines, not a single chubby archer.”

Curious over what **had** to be an entertaining anecdote, Alex’s gaze flicked between the two Smiths like a tennis viewer. The conversation instead devolved into playful jibes about a childhood pet, and Alex gave a mental shrug; she'd have to pump Laura for details some other time. Returning to her cooling breakfast, Alex tried to decide whether she’d cut pictures for her valentines out of scrap or sketch them herself. _Heart shaped or square? Gold lettering or traditional black? Plain border or lace edging?_ and other such artistic considerations.

There was also the question of what to wear, though she suspected Laura would be hatching some sartorial plot on her behalf.

Black, though a classic, was inappropriate for the occasion. White, even if trimmed in a more traditional shade, seemed too virginal and inappropriate for her station. Gold seemed too flashy, silver too cool, green or blue - though some of her best colors - not quite right. Pink was far more Laura’s taste- whenever she could be moved away from blues, blacks and browns. The only other seasonal choice was red, which had always been a hit or miss color on Alex. Deep hues like carmine and ruby set her off well, while orangey shades like vermilion and scarlet left her sallow. The classically bright cherry color made her look sunburnt- and was now forever tainted by association with Daisy.

But perhaps a rich cranberry satin, or a vintage burgundy velvet- befitting the season, suitable to the day, age appropriate, and flattering to her skin and hair. In fact, she might have just the thing…

Then she felt Matt’s fingertips ghosting over her knee, and figured the planning could wait just a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah it's been a while, but I promised I wasn't going to abandon this story before the end; it's just taking me a while to get there. real life interference and flagging inspiration are mostly to blame, and for that you have my apologies. more will be on the way soon. I'm slowly catching up and closing the gap between what's already here and my 'already written but still a ways to go before we get there' sections.
> 
> also, history note: "scrap" (sometimes known as lithography) were sheets of printed pictures that could be cut out to decorate boxes, furniture, presents, cards and - you guessed it - Valentines. (practice similar to decoupage. anyone who read the AG Samantha books might recall this.) started in the early 1800s, mostly black and white to be colored by hand, but by mid to late-century they were using a coloring process to produce full color sheets.


	30. Chapter 30

Following dinner a few nights later, Matt had taken off to the study to work on his secret valentines. He wouldn’t bother with Catherine, and Daisy had been a non-entity in his thoughts since the sudden absence of crimson correspondence, but he still had a few women in his life for whom to create.

Though normally he wouldn’t include a servant, Jenna would be the recipient of a rich purple card trimmed in lace and expressing heartfelt appreciation for the sweetness she brought to the household.

Laura’s completed card - a pale pink heart enveloping a stack of colorful books, wrapped in a handwritten ribbon of silly poetry - sat pressed between two sheets of tissue in a tome about archaeology.

As he carefully cut out a dapper sketch of a rabbit in white tie for Salome’s card, he knew the child was more likely to tear or chew it than treasure it as a keepsake unless her mother got to it first. He still couldn't resist. And speaking of her mother…

Matt had known since the conversation with Laura in his study that he needed to tell his beloved wife what was going on. Cowardly a thought as it was, the idea of merely letting her see the handwriting upon the cards and allowing the dice to fall as they would had been on his mind since Laura had suggested they celebrate the holiday- but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not that way. She deserved so much better, to hear it from his own lips and not learn in such a craven fashion.

His waste bin was littered with pitiful sonnets, rejected explanations, attempts at organizing his thoughts, strange little diagrams of likely outcomes- which he quickly stopped when most of them involved her not engaging with him at all for extended periods. She had not seen his typical handwriting since his last letter, and the only times he had had cause to leave her notes, his script had been forced into the blocky incognito he had used in the notification of Florian's death.

With a sigh, Matt shoved his hands through the quiff that had fallen across his brow, screwed the lid back on the glue pot, and stowed the sheets of scrap and other evidence of his labours. It was time for bed; he’d deal with this all tomorrow.

As he headed upstairs, footfalls muted by the lush carpeting, Matt once again let his imagination construct scenarios of Alex learning the truth until he stood before the door to their room shivering off a particularly dark vision. Seizing the handle he slipped within. A cheery fire blazed in the hearth, and warm light spilled on the floor like a milk puddle before the door that stood ajar to the washroom.

Slipping forward to check on Salome rather than indulge himself with his wife’s ablutions, he was surprised to find the bassinet empty. Matt scratched absentmindedly at his cheek before recalling Laura’s demand for ‘quality cuddle time’ with her niece. Barring an urgent problem, the child would be with his sister until the morning.

His gaze streaked for the open door and he eased forward on tiptoe to peer around the carved wood. Alex stood in the center of the room, curls pinned atop her head, wisps of fragrant steam still threading the air. A towel was tucked around her frame while she applied a softening cream to her damp skin, a faraway look on her face as her fingers drifted over her calves and across her elbows and up the side of her neck.

Rubbing the residue into her hands, she untucked the toweling and began to unwrap it, reaching for the dressing gown and nightdress that hung on the edge of the free standing mirror. Then she stopped. Matt swallowed hard, fingers tightening over the doorjamb as she let the fluffy material fall to the floor and considered her form in the polished glass. She rotated one way, then the other, examining the way light played over the backs of her legs, the swell of her hip, the splayed skin of her presented shoulder.

Matt could not fathom what her eyes saw, but to him she seemed full, **_ripe_** , and in that moment, a delicious idea overtook him. Sneaking down to the kitchens as he had so often as a child seeking sweets, Matt spotted what he sought and raced back to their chamber. Setting his prize on the bedside table, he began to hastily strip, down to his smalls as Alex emerged.

“Oh!” she gasped, a hand pressing over her heart. “Sweetie, you startled me.” A deep breath or two and she recovered, stepping closer to press a warm kiss to his mouth. Her eyes took on a playful shine as they ran up and down the bared length of him. “Although I’m starting to feel I may be overdressed.”

She eased out of her dressing gown and was reaching for the nightrail when she spotted the covered basket on her bedside table. “Darling…,” she asked, halting in her undress. “What’s that?”

Matt merely smiled and stepped close again, wrapping his arms around her and sliding his hands down to gently cup her bottom. She arched up into a kiss with a surprised little “mmm!” but offered no resistance when he gathered the material in his palms and eased it up over her head.

She was laid back along the bed, little sighs escaping her lips as he dropped maddeningly random kisses along her skin: the tip of her nose instead of her mouth, a flutter over one side of her abdomen but not the other, a soft lick at the curve of her thigh, and a gentle suck at the base of her ankle. Then he straightened, slid his drawers off, and ghosted warm fingertips over her skin before reaching for the cloth covering the basket she had asked about.

Inside was a dark mound of ripe cherries.

Selecting a fruit, he gripped it lightly by the stem and held it a few inches above her head. The fruit, bearing the slight chill of the icebox, almost made her cross-eyed as it scooted along the slope of her nose before lifting off to hover over her lips. It edged along the seam, eliciting a tickle as Matt trailed it back and forth over the sensitive skin.

Eventually the cherry stilled in the bow of her mouth, and Matt smiled, a hint of challenge in the quirk of his lips. Alex’s parted, and the cool fruit slipped just inside. Her teeth broke the surface, and a liquid sweetness flooded her tongue. Before she could manage another nibble, the fruit vanished and Matt’s lips descended on hers, gently lapping the blood red stain from her lips as though she had produced the nectar.

Her arms were reaching to wind around his neck when he pulled back, holding the cherry up once more. Taking a fresh bite, he tipped the fruit back into his fingertips, giving a gentle squeeze until beads of the lush liquid broke forth. Drawing it across Alex’s lips like a rouge brush, he watched fascinated as the tip of her tongue flicked out to capture a taste. His head bent again to capture another drink and she shivered beneath him as he painted a trail over her body, pausing from time to time to kiss her softly or procure a fresh cherry.

Alex caught her lower lip with her teeth again as a frigid droplet of juice fell onto her nipple, which instantly pebbled from the chill. It was soothed by the warm attentions of Matt’s mouth, his tongue swirling around as he lapped every trace of the liquid. A fresh nibble preceded the moistened fruit being applied to her other breast, rotating around the rosy peak in a dizzying spin that left her toes curling even before his tongue joined in the fun.

After sucking juice from her navel and licking the dribble that had skimmed the curve of her inner thigh, Matt settled onto his stomach and slid his shoulder under her knee to act as a support. His eyes never left hers as he bit into the half fruit that remained and produced a drip that fell trickling through the golden curls between her thighs. Alex shuddered, hands fisting in the covers, as Matt followed the droplet with his mouth. Lips, the faint graze of teeth, and that talented tongue proceeded to devour her with determined relish. She spun like candy floss until she shattered like sugar glass and floated back to the earth in little pieces.

When she had recovered from the pleasurable haze that fogged her senses, Alex turned the tables- literally- and Matt found himself on his back while she reached for a cherry of her own, a smile playing across her swollen lips until she pulled the lower one between her teeth. He suppressed a groan at the sight, eyes fluttering open at the pressure of her mouth on his. They soon drifted closed as his lips parted, and a tang of flavor mingled with the lingering taste of Alex as the dark juice on her tongue painted his.

“So, sweetie,” she purred, pulling back to pepper his jawline with kisses, “Will you be my Valentine?”

His arms wrapped around her and he closed the infinitesimal distance between their skin before he answered, warm lips grazing her temple as he breathed the words into her hair. “Always and completely, my love.” Despite the blown pupils, the affection in his gaze as he looked at her was unmistakable; her breath caught a little at the sight. “Always… and completely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I wanted to give you guys a chapter for Christmas and while I didn't quite make my deadline (no internet at the house I was sitting) I made it as sweet as I could. hope you like it, sorry about the delay, and... well... um... next chapter will be up soon.  
> just remember I really do love you guys.  
> Merry Christmas and a Happy Who Year!
> 
> EDIT: sorry. I forgot I was going to post my inspiration for Alex's Valentine dress. here it is. http://alexkphotos.tumblr.com/post/40469538143


	31. Chapter 31

How it happened was the most innocuous thing.

After breaking their fast, Laura had kept Matt company a short time in his study while swooning over James’s letters and teasing him about Alex’s correspondence. Their conversation had progressed to the point where he realized she was still under the impression he’d _told_ Alex all those weeks prior.

Just about to set her straight, he’d been interrupted by the woman herself appearing in the doorway. Laura had scarpered with a knowing wink, and Matt had fought back a groan before Alex wrapped him up in an embrace that left him wanting to groan for a far different reason.

Then after luncheon, Salome had gone down for a nap, so the trio of Smiths decided to take a walk in the greenhouse, needing fresh air and to stretch somewhere other than the Gallery. Valentine’s was just a few days away, and Laura was practically vibrating with excitement over seeing James again. Matt and Alex strolled arm in arm, smiling indulgently as she spun and flitted through the just budding flowers.

“I don’t think I’ve seen her this happy since the day I met her.”

Matt took her hand, drawing it from the crook of his elbow to hold as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Well it takes a very strange sort indeed not to be charmed by you, my dear,” he stated with a punctuating kiss to her temple.

Alex blushed and shook her head before pressing a grateful kiss to his cheek. But whatever she’d been about to say in reply was lost as Laura danced over, grabbed Alex’s hands and pulled her into a spin. After a few revolutions, the ladies were in giggles, holding each other up gently as the dizziness subsided.

“Oh, Alex, it’s… is it ridiculous to say this feels like something out of a fairy tale?”

Alex wiped at her eyes before responding, “Well Catherine might qualify as a wicked sister-in-law, but it’s no fictional romance. No dream to wake up from and find you’re still all alone. He’s quite real and quite lovely.”

“Yes he is.” Laura exhaled a dreamy sigh. “At least a like at first sight, and then love through letters. I can’t believe it’s happening to me, too.”

A little wrinkle of confusion marred the skin between her brows. “Too? Is there a long history of this in literature?”

Sniffing contentedly at a half-blown rose, Laura was a bit distracted in her answer. “Oh of course, but I mean Matt. Maybe it’s a Smith thing; we just fall in love with a written word. Well you know what I mean.”

Totally oblivious to the storm brewing around them, Laura missed the look on Matt’s face, his wild gestures over Alex’s head to let it pass. “Yeah, I think it was around the third or fourth that he’d really started to fall. He had those memorized by then, I think.”

“The third or fourth… what, Laura?” Alex’s brow furrowed again with concentration, and her mouth scrunched to one side.

“Letter from you, of course. He practically attacked the couriers to get to them. Always so eager for that…” It took a few more moments before Laura caught her expression, and when she did, she faltered a bit. “I mean you… you did _know_ , didn’t you? Matt told you. He said… he woul- about writing you… from… the battlefield?”

A quivering in the pit of her stomach threatened to make her sick as Alex turned to her husband for the truth with a pleading tone in her voice, that it could not be- **would** not be what she was rapidly coming to dread. “Matt? Is this true?”

His posture was so rigid, it seemed he might shatter from a hard enough blow. He stood nearly every inch the composed military man… closed off behind a wall everywhere but his eyes. Matt’s mouth was a hardset line, but his eyes had gone so wide there was white clear around the hazel rings. And when he finally flicked them to hers for just a moment, she saw the truth there.

“Oh, God,” she breathed, pressing a hand to her mouth. “It is. What was I? What was **this**?” Her arm flung out wildly at the air. “Some twisted… prank of my husband’s? Did you laugh at my replies, the way I fell all over you in the lines? Was I some bizarre entertainment for the company? _What was I?!_ ” At some point, she’d begun punctuating her questions with fists beating on his chest. Tears streamed down her face unheeded and she only realized the state she was in when he gathered her to his chest and held her tight.

She struggled hard, pulling against the arms that bound her and the urge she had to just give in, to melt into the warm solid of his chest and let herself be held. She caught a hint of cologne and that underlying essence that was wholly his own and stiffened away from him to keep herself from burying her nose in the crook of his neck. The noises falling from her mouth as she struggled were broken and raw, bare syllables of incoherent grief.

_What did this make her? What did this make them?_

She hated him. She wanted to hate him so badly, to shift some of the blame from herself for being so **stupid** as to trust a man. So desperate and starved for love and connection, she had let herself fall, hoping someone would catch her, and the safety net had snapped not once but twice. With Florian, it had been like being squeezed, as though her world was contracting and compressing her with it, as though she couldn’t get enough air. This was different. This was painful and hard, like being thrown from a horse, like slamming into the earth from a great height. The thud of the impact drove the air from her lungs and her body exploded with a hundred points of agony.

The shards of her broken heart were ripping her apart and she felt she’d never get put back together. _Was it possible to bleed to death from this?_ She wondered.

She finally burst out of Matt’s grip, shaking off Laura’s attempts to coddle her and running to the master suite. She’d thrown the bolt behind her before she remembered he carried the keys, but she wanted the illusion of a barrier, the possibility it might slow him down.

She felt a scream building from her toes, swirling in the pit of her stomach, beating against the cage of her ribs. And yet she knew if she let it out it would never stop. It would continue on, long and keening as a banshee’s cry until it had haled the soul out of her. She would be left with nothing inside- though in her grief, oblivion seemed preferable to conscious agony.

But she bit it back, knuckles against her mouth bruising her lips against clenched teeth. She could not let it escape. Her eyes swung to the bassinet where Salome lay sleeping, content and blissfully unaware of her mother’s current turmoil. As much as she wanted to gather her up in her arms and rock her- or dash from the house and run back to Kingston Hall or beyond- she let her lie and curled up alone, small and miserable, on her side of the large four-poster. It struck her as perversely funny that such a grand, imposing bed managed to feel just right when she and Matt lay curled up in its center. That it had seemed so cold when she’d arrived, only to transform into a warm haven. Love had made the difference, she supposed.

A while back, during a sudden storm that had terrified Salome and startled them both from a sound sleep, Matt had simply padded to the windows, drawing the curtains and gathering Salome in his arms before returning. After placing her in Alex’s waiting embrace, he had drawn the bedcurtains as well, and propped Salome on a cradling platform of pillows between them, wrapping a tender arm around each of them as they drifted back to sleep in the cozy nook. It had made her think of one of their letters- the thought barely strange at the time- but she had fallen asleep reciting the words, his words, in her mind.

_Dearest Alexandra,_

_The sky last night exploded in a wash of color and light- a rare late summer storm. It called to mind your letter from April, when the Hall was buffeted by so many spring showers. Though such a phenomenon of weather unsettles me, I was soothed by the remembrance of the fond wonder you hold for them._

_I confess to still bear confusion that a woman so afraid of the dark- an admission which has rendered you even more dear to me with its sweet vulnerability- should love the roar of thunder and flash of lightning as you do. Yet I bring to mind your words: that more evil was ever done in the dark than the midst of a raging storm, and that while darkness is a silent absence of light, a storm so full of light and sound is merely affirming the presence of a greater being over us. This helps me to understand you better, and it is this thought that makes me smile- as thoughts of you so often do. And it is within that joyous space that I swear to you now- I will_ always _love you through the darkness._

_I will throw my voice into the stars and entrust my love to the heavens, and perhaps the echo of it will be written for you in the clouds by sunrise.*_

_Hold the thought, my love, until I am there to hold you myself. Think of me in the night until I return, and I may hope to transform the darkness into something you love…_

It was all gone now. It was a lie, a betrayal, some colossal cosmic joke. The letters were in her hand before she realized she’d moved to retrieve them from her dressing table. The ribbon was a cold strip, the parchment a leaden weight.

She had memorized every word, every line, pressed each page to her heart as though she could absorb the love through her skin. She had fallen in love with the man in these pages, and thought he’d loved her back. To learn now that he had never even existed was too much to bear.

_But he_ did _,_ her mind briefly attempted to argue. _He does exist, and he even loves you- just not in the way you’d thought. ‘_ That's _how we fell in love._ That's _what matters’,_ it threw back from her mental conversation the day she’d hurt her ankle. But Alex clapped her hands- letters and all- to her head and shook until the voice silenced.

When she looked up again, she saw the room through a teary haze, softening everything into a dreamlike blur of color. The firelight danced merrily in the hearth, and the carpet pattern swirled around her feet like an ocean current. She drew up to the hearth like a child, her legs tucked beneath her to one side.

When the letters hit the flames, she stared unblinking as the fire devoured them like a voracious reader. When the wispy smoke and a pitiful twist of ash reached her eyes, the last vestige of her self-control finally broke down and she curled into a tiny bundle of raw pain to sob out the pieces of her once more broken heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so yeah. despite the fact that I *did* warn you guys there would be angst, I'm just gonna say sorry and get that out of the way. and as soon as this posts, I will be running back to hide in my pillow fort for a while.  
> also, quick calculation... we are approximately 6 chapters from the end. *grabs a paper bag and starts breathing*
> 
> re: the * in the letter, that line and the one about loving through the darkness were borrowed with permission from a poem of Christopher Poindexter. the rest is mine, inspired by it.


	32. Chapter 32

When Matt had braved the stairs to their room that night, he hadn’t expected the door to be unlocked. Hoped, definitely, but not expected. So it was little surprise when the knob wouldn’t turn and the door held firm beneath the bolt. He padded down to a spare room next to Salome’s nursery in progress, stripped down, and climbed into a bed far too cold for his liking.

Awaking the next day, he’d hoped, but not expected, that the door might be unbolted. So he shook off the chill of the unused room and dressed with only a slight shiver and tiptoed back down the hall. The door remained locked.

He headed down to breakfast, avoiding Laura’s sympathetic stares and Catherine’s smug surprise at Alex’s absence. The food turned to ash on his tongue, but he endured through a piece of bacon, one slice of granary toast, and half a cup of coffee; he didn’t even bother with jam and sugar.

When he headed to the study intent on working until luncheon, when Alex might come down, he grabbed the valise he kept in a cupboard and produced fresh clothes, which he quickly donned before passing off the previous day’s outfit to be laundered and getting to work.

It was lucky Gallifreya required so little input from its master, since he proved utterly useless as the minutes ticked by. The scene in the greenhouse played through his mind on a loop, halting at different random points each time. Now he saw the scene in quarter time, willing Laura to stop talking, willing himself to reach her and clap a hand over her mouth. Now he paused on Alex’s eyes, wounded jade darkening through a veil of tears to a fiercely glittering emerald. Now the scene took on an element of the surreal as the letters – _his_ letters – swirled around them like snowflakes, swarming like a flock of birds, linking together into an impenetrable chain of white that bound him to Alex’s side.

_Now he saw that chain falling away, shattering like blown glass against the paving stones at their feet. He saw the life he’d built on a lie start to crumble._

He jolted awake with a thundering heart. A bell was chiming in the mantelclock. Smoothing his hair, checking his reflection in a brass vase, even giving his breath a cursory whiff, Matt straightened his tie and headed to the dining room. And still Alex did not appear.

When Jenna chanced in, he asked in her ear about sending a tray up to Her Ladyship. But it had already been done. The tray, delivered at half nine that morning, still sat untouched outside the Master suite.

The same occurred with the tea tray sent up at four, although the steaming platters that arrived that evening following dinner did have a small amount removed.

That night, the door remained locked.

Sometime well past midnight, Matt crept to the door, pressed his ear to the wood, and listened. No sound greeted him. He drummed his fingers quietly over the surface – the kind of noise that would only be noticed by a conscious listener – and waited. Still no reply.

He sighed. “Alex,” he said in a low hush, “please. Please forgive me.” Silence. “Just… open the door and let me see you.” The silence persisted. “You don’t even have to open the door; just come and stand, so I can see your shadow moving, so I can…” But he tapered off without completing the thought.

His forehead landed against the wood with a muted thump, and for many long minutes he stayed, as though he could pass his thoughts through the door to the woman who lay within. When the chill of the hallway became too much, he dragged himself away to bed, a fingertips tracing the rail in the wall, laying down a safeguard for the occupants that lay beyond.

* * *

And so it went for eight days. Matt rested (but never slept) in the room down the hall, rotating elements of outfits he'd had set aside. He attempted to work, only to stare into the flickering flames of the fireplace or at random points on the wall, seeing Lord knew what for hours on end. Laura tried to coax Alex out of the suite, aided by Jenna in turns, to no avail.

There she stayed, unseen though sometimes heard faintly through the heavy blue door- wandering footsteps padding across the carpet, a voice singing a broken lullaby to Salome, murmuring as though she were talking to someone- although none had been admitted.

The trays the maids brought up sat largely untouched, except for the odd bite or sip, and the dirty clothes piled atop the dishes.

Laura returned and sat with her back to the door, reading aloud in a clear voice for two hours every morning and afternoon. She cajoled, lectured, offered bribes, and pleaded to see her niece. And still the door stayed locked.

Like a nervous compulsion, Jenna toyed with the skeleton key that hung on the chain from her apron- but Matt had said no. Alex must come out when she was good and ready, and not be pushed. Unless some indicator of distress or urgent need came from the mistress, she was not to be pushed. And besides, he had glumly concluded, there was probably something on the other side of the door just in case.

It was past luncheon on the ninth day, which by this point had grown to a tight and dismal affair, when Matt heard a crunch outside the window of his study. Turning over his shoulder, he spotted a figure in a cloak heading for the gardens.

Throwing down his quill, he ran out the side door and raced to catch up.

In addition to impeccably kept grounds, Gallifreya also boasted the greenhouse, a sunken garden, a circular hedge maze, and a walled in sanctuary with a scrollwork gate at the sole entrance. It was here that Matt found her.

She was standing still as a statue when he entered, slid the gate closed with a quiet bang and locked it with a brass key- which he instantly pocketed.

She had whirled to face him when the gate slammed home, and their eyes met briefly across the distance... and it suddenly became very hard to get enough air into their lungs.

Somehow he managed to speak. “Alex… it’s been over a week. Wait much longer and it’ll be two. Without seeing each other, without seeing the poppet. Without talking. Without… anything between us.” The blush that rose in her cheeks might have been attributed to the cold.

He drew a step nearer and she flinched, halting him dead from attempting another. As though he were trying to calm a frightened animal, he put his hands up and kept his voice a soothing plea. “Talk to me, Alex. **_Say_** something. Yell, cry, scream at me, but please talk.”

The only reply to his entreating was the whistle of a chill breeze. Alex began to pace while he stood still and it was only when she paused between each rotation that he saw she was trembling like a leaf on a blustery day. Arms held tight around her middle as though she were hugging herself- no. As though she were holding herself together, afraid she might shake apart if she let go.

And oh, how he longed to go to her, to wrap her in his arms and bury his face in her curls and love her again, forever, if only she’d let him. He’d drop apologies along with kisses to her temple and brow and shoulder and hold on tight and never again give her a reason to let go.

But the gap that lay between, wide and yawning as some great deep cavern, was one he could not breach on his own. It had to be Alex who made the first step; it had to be she who gave the word to forge ahead.

Every so often she would throw a glance his way, staring hard for a minute as though she were testing escape routes in her mind. Then she would give a little shake of her head and resume her circuit, and in all the time that passed neither moved more than an inch closer to the other.

If asked, Matt could not have said how long it had been since his speech had ended, but a glance at his watch showed nearly half an hour had elapsed without so much as a syllable from his love. Eventually noting his unwavering attention, she stopped pacing and pinned him with a bitterly pained glare.

“You can keep me here til I develop roots and start to sprout. I am not talking to you.”

Matt suppressed the smile of minor achievement and simply stated, “Well now that we’ve got that out of the way, how have you been?”

Her jaw dropped for a bit, going a bit goldfish at his trick. Tightening her hold on herself, she tore her eyes away and muttered at the ground, “I hate you.”

There was no hint of tease or mirth in his reply, only a quiet melancholy. “No you don’t. You love me, and that’s how I know we’re going to be fine.”

“Don’t you **dare** presume to tell me what I do and do not feel, Mr. Smith.”

“My apologies. I should have said I understand if you feel that way now, but underneath it, you love me. I know you do. Just as I love you.”

“No you don’t. Or if you do, it’s not real. It can’t be. Those letters-”

“Are how we fell in love. Since the first time you wrote me.”

“No,” Alex ground out, low and dangerous before she calmed. “I wrote my _husband_ and a _stranger_ replied. The man in those letters-”

“Was me!” he exclaimed, just as he caught the end of her pronouncement “-doesn’t exist.”

The naked pain on her face made him want to throw back his head and howl. “You lied to me. Every letter was a lie!”

“NO!” Biting back a grunt, his hand fisted in his hair before he released it, smoothing the fringe as it flopped over his forehead; what he didn’t know was that Alex’s heart flipped right with it. “No. The only untrue word I ever wrote was the name I signed at the bottom. The thoughts were mine. The voice was me. I fell in love with you through those letters, before I’d ever seen you. And you fell in love with me.”

“I fell in love with the man in those pages,” she delineated before a pause, as though she were about to jump from a precipice and was willing herself to find the nerve. “But he doesn’t exist. I mourned the first time because I thought I’d lost him forever. And so I buried my heart with him, and eventually it reawakened to you, to this new… life. It wasn’t the same, but it didn’t have to be. I never expected it to be.” He felt one glimmering flutter of hope before she dashed it like a butterfly beneath a stone.

“But according to you, that man has been here, and all this time, I could’ve gone on loving and being loved. I could’ve stopped mourning someone who apparently never deserved it, and turned that love to the person who did.”

She stopped, rolled her shoulders in a motion that was part shrug part wince, and breathed out a white ribbon of a sigh. “Instead you lied, and you kept him from me. And somehow that’s so much worse. I don’t know if I’ll survive it this time. I’m not sure I want to.”

“Alex,” he started, braving a step closer.

She held up a hand, halting his words and steps simultaneously. “You have to leave me alone, Matt. I need time to grieve again, time to learn how to live without you. I need space if I’m going to have any chance of surviving you.” Her eyes glittered with tears, and her voice wavered under the weight of such emotion until all she could manage was a whispered “ _Please._ ”

A million voices screamed a million courses of action inside his head, but he didn’t say anything as he pulled the key out and held its weight in his palm. He didn’t risk a word as he extended it towards her.

He could not bring himself to look at her when he felt the tips of her fingers ghost his skin as she collected it.

He waited until he heard the click of the lock and creak of the gate to turn around, somehow knowing she wouldn’t see- and of course she was too busy running as fast as her skirts will allow. The world fell into a state he could not comprehend, all color slid away and the lines of everything blurred together as tears filled his eyes. Then they fell.

Perhaps an hour later, Laura found him, hunched in on himself, tear tracks lining his face as he stared unblinkingly into the distance. He did not heed her voice, did not feel her hand rest on his shoulder. It was only when she wrapped her arms around him, holding him with a maternal ferocity, that he returned to the world.

The moment he drifted back to earth, his eyes swung to hers. The pain in his eyes was reflected back, his sister’s heart breaking for the pain she saw there.

“Oh, Lor… I’ve lost her.” The words now spoken, the truth of them felled him like a blow, and he crumpled to the ground still in her arms. They knelt there a long while, uncaring of the stains the earth would leave on their clothing. Laura rocked him as she had years before, her cheek in his hair as her tears trickled through the locks, murmuring words through a tightly clogged throat, his head against her collarbone as he clutched her close and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the angst continues. you have my apologies. *runs back and hides*


	33. Chapter 33

Following breakfast the next morning, Matt and Laura were holed up in his study talking when a flurry of activity drew them out to the hall. Jenna stood at the landing of the main staircase consulting a piece of paper, and handing out copies that Cecily was dutifully creating behind her to a small cluster of maids and footmen.

As the siblings drew near, the group headed up the stairs and Jenna and Cecily turned to spot them. Bobbing quick curtseys, they made to follow the group until Matt called out for Jenna to please come down.

The pintsized housekeeper sent Cecily off to the kitchens when they reached the floor, and stood before the master with an uncharacteristic squirm. The siblings shared a look of concern, knowing Jenna never showed discomfort like this unless it was an overwhelming level. As her fingers laced themselves together into complicated knots, Matt laid a hand on her shoulder and gently repeated his request for information.

“It’s the Lady, sir. She… I went to deliver the tray this morning and she answered the door.” Matt’s grip on Jenna’s arm tightened, while Laura adopted a similar squeeze on his bicep. “I nearly fell over with relief, but she bid me come in, and I played with the little one while she was eating… we even shared a cup of tea.” She smiled at the memory, then straightened, eyes widening. “Normally, I’d never against the protocol sir, but she insisted.”

Matt patted her arm and nodded his understanding, although Jenna did such a stellar job in her command of the household that she could’ve flouted most rules of convention without comment from him. Beyond that, his tentative joy at the break in Alex's seclusion had him all but sweeping the ladies into his arms and swinging. Jenna calmed and continued.

“Then she handed me a list, sir. Of things… to fetch and… ahem, pack.” Matt’s stomach fell to the vicinity of his shoes. Laura’s hand instantly found his. “There’s still those boxes from when she arrived never opened, but… the list was for some clothes, toys for the girl, her art things – although she said she wants the painting of the grounds left behind, sir.”

“She’s…” All three of them flinched at the odd sound of his voice. He cleared his throat and tried again, partially succeeding with a stable and near emotionless tone. “She’s leaving?”

Jenna’s eyes flicked to Laura’s, then she dropped her gaze and nodded. “Yes sir.”

Matt was up the steps like a shot, Laura and Jenna hot on his heels. A few maids carrying bundles of clothes fluttered out of the way as he rounded the hall and entered the Master suite. They stood awkwardly, backs to the wall, until Jenna waved them to deposit their loads in the standing trunks and leave. Salome squealed with delight at the sight of her aunt, who stepped over to sweep her up into a tearful cuddle.

Alex exited the washroom at the soft commotion, starting a bit when she saw Laura, then halting in her tracks completely when she turned and spotted Matt in the center of the room. She lifted her chin a bit, red-rimmed eyes the only betrayal of her outward calm. Jenna bustled over to take the toiletries she carried, but Alex stopped her with a shake of her head.

As she walked to the trunk herself, settling them in carefully, Jenna sought to break the palpable tension in the room by apologizing. She’d barely begun before Alex flashed her a wan smile.

“It’s quite alright, Jenna. I didn’t expect you _not_ to tell him. I just,” she indicated the four half-filled boxes that lay about the room with a sigh, “hoped we’d be farther along before you did.” Pushing to her feet again, she walked to where Laura still held Salome, who had quieted considerably in the past few minutes. Offering her daughter a more genuine smile, she extended a tentative arm towards Laura, who grabbed her into a fierce one-armed hug in response.

“I’m so sorry, Lor,” Alex murmured against her shoulder, “But I wouldn’t have left without saying goodbye.” She pulled back as far as Laura would allow, and the sisters shared a quiet moment together.

Then they turned to the man still standing beyond, and Alex slipped out of Laura’s hold. She folded her hands in front of her and stood to face him. He managed not to wince at the bruise-like shadows beneath her eyes, the sallow pallor of her normally vibrant skin.

“Alex… why?”

“I told you. I need time to…” Aware that they still had an audience, Alex contemplated how much more to say. Matt rescued her.

“I understand. Where will you go?”

“Back to Kingston Hall.”

Laura broke in. “But you’ll be all alone.” The other occupants in the room turned to her. “She… You dismissed all the servants when she came here.” She twirled her watchpin to distract Salome when she started to fuss. “And I wouldn’t trust them anyway.”

Alex sighed as she realized the work she’d have to do to engage even a few servants. “I’ll send a notice ahead to the posting inn nearest the Hall. There should be a few replies by the time I reach ho… there.”

“You should take Jenna.” The housekeeper looked hopeful, while Alex raised startled eyes to the man who had spoken. “She can whip any place into shape, and we can… do without a while, can’t we, Lor?” His sister snapped her mouth shut and nodded. “And this won’t be… a permanent move… right? You will… come back?” The tentative hope in his voice, his eyes, nearly cracked her reassembled heart.

Alex didn’t reply right away. She wanted to say yes, that of course they’d be back in no time. She wanted to give in to that little voice that told her it wasn’t necessary to leave. But she straightened her spine and nodded. “Eventually. But you don’t have to send Jenna along with me.”

“I wouldn’t mind at all, milady,” Jenna piped up. “I’d have that Hall running smooth as oiled brass til you were ready to come back.”

“Oh I know.” Alex crossed to the girl and gave her an uncustomary squeeze. “Jenna, you are brilliant and delightful, and a true friend. I’d be blessed to have you running my house.” She pulled back with her hands still on Jenna’s shoulders. “But I can’t take you away.” The housekeeper let a tiny quiver of her lip out before she nodded, apparently not trusting her voice. Alex leaned in to whisper softly, “They’re going to need you too much. I need you to look after them until I… well, you will. Won’t you?”

Jenna nodded again, a few tears slipping her lashes before she braved hugging her mistress. Alex smiled and hugged her back, only a little surprised when the girl pulled away without a word and fled the room.

A mere two hours later, the packing was done and Salome went with Jenna for a final visit while Alex joined the family for one last luncheon. Unsurprisingly, no one at the table ended up with much appetite. Matt and Alex traded furtive glances at one another between small morsels and sips of wine. Laura sat beside Alex and sniffled through most of the meal. Catherine prodded her meat but actually kept her mouth shut, for reasons no one dared question.

Finally, there was nothing to do but say goodbye. Catherine took her leave immediately after the plates were cleared, gracing Alex with a stiff curtsey and nod. Jenna and Laura cuddled Salome while Alex drew on her gloves and traveling cloak, aided by Matt. Fastening the clasp, she turned, her mouth open to say… something- but Matt put a few paces between them and collected Salome. The child sat quiet in his arms, tiny fingers grasping his lapels as he pressed a kiss to one chubby cheek and breathed in the scent of her baby brown curls. Laura went and hugged her sister once more, neither managing to keep from crying as they said another goodbye.

Jenna thought about making a final offer of her services and company- but decided against it when she spotted the look on Matt’s face as he passed Salome to her and stepped to the staircase. The driver knocked, and Alex gathered her daughter up with a final squeeze to Jenna. She stood in the doorway a minute, committing the faces of this motley family to memory- Jenna’s tear-streaked stoicism, Matt and Laura with an arm around the other… only one managing to meet her gaze.

“It’s only goodbye for a little wh- Ahem… well, it won’t be forever. In the meantime, you’re welcome to write. Both of you.” Not sure if anyone - including her - could be sure if the invitation was directed at the women or the Smith siblings in the room, she amended it. “ _All_ of you.”

Then she walked through the door and climbed into the waiting coach, holding her daughter close and not daring to look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys. this one's been back and forth on the editing, but I wanted to get a chapter up so I wasn't leaving you hanging. (also I've edited this within an inch of its margins, so if I missed anything or there's something you don't like, my bad.)
> 
> there's more on the way, and the next chapter will either be broken up or left long. (since the chapter right after is long too, I'm debating. but my OCD would prefer an even number of chapters.) 
> 
> thanks so much for sticking with me. the end is drawing near...


	34. Chapter 34

When she arrived back at Kingston Hall in the early afternoon a few days later, she wandered, daughter in her arms, stretching the kinks of travel out of her body. The housekeeper, cook, maid and footman she’d requested at the last posting inn were shown the house (albeit by a very distracted and far away mistress) and given a spare schedule to keep around her own. Most of the house would remain closed, and Alex would ring if anything was required in an odd hour. The servants bobbed their understanding, the keys were passed to Mrs. Bennett, and Alex took herself off, carrying a solemn Salome while her room was prepared and a market run set up.

Anything still edible in the root cellar and larder would serve for dinner, and the groceries would be delivered on the morrow. When Alex slipped into bed with Salome that evening, the room was only a little musty, and the fire built up in the fireplace displaced a good deal of the gloom.

Rose, the new maid, who could clean anything and knew a bit about dressing, helped Alex on the mornings she got out of bed and changed out of her nightrail or dressing gown. With only three rooms in occasional use, the girl had time to spare, and so filled in as nanny when Alex wanted to be alone.

Salome had been a bit broody the last few days, once the novelty of new surroundings had worn off. Since Mrs. Bennett had no time or patience for children, Rose was the only person besides her mother that the girl interacted with, and she constantly seemed to look around for signs of Matt or her Aunty Lor or even Jenna; it cracked Alex’s heart a little each time her daughter seemed disappointed at not finding them.

The small group seemed to fall into a routine smoothly enough though, and if none of the servants seemed interested in being bosom friends, at least no one pinched the silver or tried to murder her in her bed. A general concern for the general wellbeing of the tiny general populace of the household was sufficient and shared by all, and they got on generally well. Mrs. Bennett the housekeeper lacked Jenna’s sweet disposition but managed her band with a firm and fair hand- perhaps realizing the best interests served by keeping the mistress alive and well. Halloway the footman tended to fidget, but knew his way around formal service, was good with horses and small animals, and was tall enough to reach anything required on tall shelves. Beatrice the cook (whose real name, Alex suspected, was nothing half so exotic) turned out simple filling fare with the odd surprise, like a gooseberry tart or ginger trifle, or egg and cress sandwiches for breakfast.

Just after a week had passed, when the clothes had been put away and the toys arranged about the room and the pantry well stocked and a new horse purchased for Alex to ride, she returned from a bracing jaunt over the grounds dressed in her ‘secret’ outfit and strode up the stairs to her room.

She was stripping out of her overlayers and about to ring for a bath when her eyes turned to the trunk that sat in the corner. For no reason other than she didn’t feel right leaving it at Gallifreya, Alex had had the trunk of Florian’s effects delivered along with hers – despite the fact that in all the time it had been with her, she had only used the key to open it once. Grief had prevented her from opening it when it had first arrived at the Hall, and shock had kept her from it while she adjusted to her new life with Matt.

The one time she’d dared get into it – when facing the likelihood of wearing Matt’s shirt to bed for the first time - surprise that the bundle of her own correspondence was not present had been fleeting against her single-minded determination to get a shirt of Florian’s instead.

Now she flipped the catch on her jewelry box and pulled out the small brass key, seating herself on the floor before fitting it into the lock. It took a few deep breaths to suppress the surge of anxiety she felt; then she turned it, popped the latch and raised the lid. A wave of scent broke over her, but the reaction was subdued, like a press on scar tissue.

She didn’t know what she was looking for, but as her gaze fell on the pillowslips she had embroidered with ivy vines and purple blooms, her fingers reached out to trail the patterns. Something stiff was under the fabric, and Alex drew the slips out, unwrapping them from a book bound in plain brown leather – Florian’s journal.

The cover was cool to the touch, and as she opened it, she saw letters in a bold hand across the page. Florian’s handwriting apparently, strange to her yet somehow well suited to the man she remembered. A twist went through her as she recalled the flowing script that had graced the pages she’d received, the smooth words of love and affection and understanding – Matt’s words, Matt’s handwriting, so fitting and apposite of the personality she had come to know and… well.

The answer had been here, if she’d wanted it. Matt had to have known when he packed Florian’s personal effects that she could find the journal, that the handwriting wouldn’t match the letters she might have saved - _must_ have saved. But she hadn’t been able to bring herself to open it save that one time, when her need for something other than his letters, for something that bore a trace of his scent, had grown too much.

But the shirt she had found had smelled instead of clean linen and gun oil, of the leather of his sword case rather than the maintained scent of his skin. It bore no traces of sweat or musk, only soap and a little sand. After a few futile sniffs, she had thrown the shirt back into the trunk in frustration, disappointment at its lack of the needed olfactory elements and a discomfiting sense of shame – that her action was somehow disloyal to her new husband - washing over her. She hadn’t dared open the trunk again, and eventually she’d forgotten about it, the need for contact and care so well fulfilled by Matt.

It felt like a reminder of her stupidity, of the surreal world she’d inhabited for months where she had fallen for two versions of the same man.

Now she read. After skimming the first dozen pages or so, Alex spotted her name and felt an inexplicable longing for a drink before she kept reading – the way doctors anesthetize a patient from pain. It was all there: his reasons for choosing her to marry, the cold sweat he’d woken to on their wedding day, a twice folded section containing a disturbingly clinical dissection of their lovemaking, happiness at his commission to the Fusiliers, and some minor day to day notations about his time abroad. There had even been a maliciously teasing note about Matt’s anxiety over the post he’d commandeered when Florian had kept back a few of Alex’s replies before handing them over. By the time he’d noticed the absence of correspondence from home, he’d barely cared. Was he really so happy to leave it to another? Would he have told her when he returned? Alex suddenly doubted the answer was one she truly cared to know.

The last entry was dated a few months beyond, cautiously hoping for a son but expecting to be disappointed with a girl. Alex allowed a brief moment of uncharitable anger when she read that the gender of their child would’ve been the linchpin in his decision to divorce or not upon his return. But anything she felt while reading – disappointment, shame, pain, anger, annoyance – turned out to be far milder than anticipated. She was reading another person’s life, a stranger’s account, and his interactions had happened with a long ago, far away version of her – someone she didn’t know any more than the man with whom she’d shared them.

“All the same,” she said to the room at large, “I think I’ll have that drink.” She shoved herself to her feet, the weight of Florian’s journal in her hand and quite a lot on her mind, and made it a few steps before promptly revisiting the floor. Her head felt like it was about to split open, and her empty stomach seemed to rebel at every motion.

Dropping the book, she held her head in her hands and breathed carefully until she felt a passable stability. Gallivanting off on horseback for over an hour without a morsel inside her, running up the stairs after days of inactivity, then sitting on the floor for who knew how long, reading passages that dredged up all sorts of things- it was no wonder she’d fallen.

Taking her time and moving more cautiously, Alex walked to the fireplace and tugged the bellpull to summon a breakfast tray. As she walked back, figuring she’d make do with a sponge and the cool water in her ewer and pitcher rather than have a full bath, the toe of her boot knocked into the book still on the carpet. She picked it up, lowering and rising gently, and wondered what to do with it.

A short burst of thought nearly had her pitching it into the fire, but instead she ripped out the section about herself, fed the crumpled pages to the flames, tossed the remainder back into the trunk, turned the key with a savage satisfaction and made a mental note to have Halloway remove it later. It no longer contained anything she would want.

For better or for worse, that part of her life was over – though Alex couldn’t help but feel it might just be for the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well if I *had* to send her back, I sure as hell wasn't going to send her back to a house of complete indifference! I may heap angst on top of you guys but I'm not totally heartless.  
> there's more to come soon. in the meantime, let me hear it. thoughts, comments, concerns, kumquats...


	35. Chapter 35

As she lay in bed that night, Alex replayed her final days at Gallifreya, allowing memories she’d kept under lock and key to wash over her.

She recalled her first day in seclusion, staring into the flames until her eyes burned from tears and light. In the wee hours, when Salome whimpered to be fed, she’d dragged herself from the floor, stripped out of her dress, and held her daughter until the dawn. For the first time in months, she wished for a bottle of laudanum. She wanted to forget, to slip into sleep and wake when the pain had passed. But she had promised, she’d sworn – and there was none to be found anyway.

She woke Salome when the tray had been delivered outside her door, ignoring it as she fed and changed her, then put them both back to bed. She fell into a deep dreamless sleep that lasted until dark painted the windows outside, and woke to Salome’s whimpers and a knock on the door. She waited until footsteps retreated down the hall before pushing back the lock. The smell of the food actually stirred her senses, and she dragged the tray inside. She fed Salome on one arm while she lifted the covers on the plates, mouth watering and stomach growling like a dragon at the sensory delight of roasted beef, stewed carrots, whipped potatoes, and an eggy pudding.

She ignored a glass and simply took sips from the pitcher of milk, washing down bits of things until her stomach rebelled. Alex stilled, throat working hard to swallow the bile that rushed up. The meat looked cooked through, the food couldn’t be bad or spoilt, and despite her flying fingers, she’d really only managed a few small bites.

Salome needed changing but that – _**ugh**_. A preliminary sniff once her daughter finished her dinner sent Alex rushing to the washroom, upending the meager contents of her stomach into the basin. Rinsing her mouth out, Alex crawled back to the bedroom. She set Salome down, slammed all the covers back, kept the pitcher of milk – which she stowed in the basin to keep cold – and shoved the tray back into the hall. After changing Salome, she disposed of the soiled nappy, placed a glass of water at the bedside table, and climbed under the covers. She felt shaky and cold despite the perspiration breaking out across her brow, and settled for sitting propped against pillows on the headboard, partially covered and sipping at her water until she felt more herself.

Then she snuggled down and drifted once more into a sleep so deep, it was after midday when she awoke. She stretched the kinks out as she rolled out of bed, pondering what witch had an issue with her to turn her into the **Dornröschen** der Gebruter Grimm. The milk (still cool from being sheltered) was consumed greedily, with a bit set aside for Salome, who ended up hungrier for more than Alex could provide.

And so it went for days that bore no other mark of their passing beyond the change in light outside the window, the fare outside her door, the clothes on the trays, and the voice of her sister, reading poetry and prose in the mornings and evenings. She sat with her back against the door, watching Salome as she slept in her crib, listening with closed eyes, closed mouth, closed heart.

She found that she cared little for anything, except her daughter and the slight return of her appetite - though she knew she left far too much uneaten. She knew she should open the door, to Laura’s pleas, to Jenna’s quiet entreats, to the possibility of friendship... or please God, the simple touch of another human being. But she couldn’t. The scent of Matt had long since faded from the sheets that she’d sent out after a few days, and she slept on the floor or curled up in his wingchair before the fire as often as she dared the bed.

Alex hated that she missed him. She hated that she wanted him near. She hated his eyes, his smile, his face, looking back at her when she absently set chalk or pencil to paper that fed the flames to keep from haunting her. And much as she told herself she appreciated the distance, she **hated** that he’d left her alone, that he wasn’t even trying. She especially hated that if he’d knocked, if it had been _his_ voice on the other side of the door, she likely would’ve opened up. But he never came, and much as she loved Laura she would not let her in, knowing she would see him in her eyes.

Eschewing company except that of her daughter, she’d argued quietly with his phantom, with herself, with the memory of the men she thought she’d loved. Spun out conversations firmly set in the hypothetical filled time between subsistence and sleep, lullabies to a daugther that fretted for her family eventually reduced to humming, her singing voice too frayed to be comforting.

And the last night she’d passed alone in the chamber she’d written him - a long letter zigzagging over the pages she had left, passing the hours when words would not come with a toy of Salome’s, the nocturnal view of the grounds out her window. And the longer the night slipped, she was forced to admit to herself that she was giving him one more chance. If he appeared, if he knocked, said a word, merely stood outside her door, she’d let him in. This cold war of theirs would thaw; she would listen.

(What she could not know was that night had passed interminably for him as well. He had paced the floor in his room, tossed and turned, reached for the handle more times than he could number- and each time stopped himself. She needed time, she needed space, she was keeping the barrier between them, between herself and the whole world. He’d apologized, he’d loved her, he’d done it for her sake, he’d kept the secret... but he’d lied. And the rationale of his brain could not defend against that. So he kept himself from walking to her door- to their door- from taking one more chance. And the night had given way to dawn before he’d lain down the struggle and sought a few hours‘ rest, figuring there was always tomorrow.)

All Alex knew was he had never come. So after the breakfast tray had been and gone, and the lettered pages folded small and stuffed in a box, and the midday meal partially consumed, she had needed air. Flinging open windows seemed a dangerous proposition to her current state of mind – even though she knew the fall wouldn’t kill her. So she’d scrubbed and washed vigorously, rinsing away all traces of the past days, dressed simply but warmly and grabbed her voluminous cloak. She pressed a kiss to her daughter’s cheek and fled down the back stairs.

The frigid bite of the air was cleaning out the cobwebs and gloom in her lungs, her soul, and she was enjoying the weak sunlight... when the clang of the gate slamming home behind her had turned her attention.

A million unspoken words sprang to her lips but she said nothing, afraid of anything from loving declarations to barbed insults flying loose. Her arms ached to hold him, to hurt him, to pull him close, to shove him away- but she used them to keep a tight grip on herself. She was terrified to take the first step, seeking escape but only moving laterally, afraid any movement in his direction and she would be trapped, pulled in by the same unseen force that drew the tides until she ended up in his arms.  She tried to cling to her fury, to her hurt, letting it serve as armor until her defenses could be shored up.

He had married her to save her, and now she truly needed rescue.

After he’d let her out, she fled back to the room, knelt before the fire until feeling returned to her limbs, then pushed to her feet. She sank into the chair at her escritoire, and began to write out a list. It was time to leave, for her sake. For their sake...

 

As the memories faded once more, Alex felt tears burn the back of her eyes in the darkness and rolled over with a groan, clutching her pillow and praying for daylight. Things would be better in the morning.

They had to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the return of history notes! the tale of Dornröschen would be Sleeping Beauty. the first printing of the Grimm Brothers tales was 1812, so it's likely Alex could've read or owned a copy.
> 
> also... yeah. Alex was passed out the only night Matt tried to talk to her, which is why she didn't answer. sorry.
> 
> next up: mail call... and I think I left the tap running in my pillow fort. scuse me. *runs*


	36. Chapter 36

Three days later, a letter arrived.

She’d been skimming through the meager post in the entryway when a knock on the door preceded a boy dressed in the blue and silver livery of Gallifreya. He walked in slowly, cautiously approaching, doffing his cap and bowing before extending an envelope towards her. It was rich blue stationery (a near match for his uniform) addressed in silvery ink – her name across the front and a number 1 stamped on the flap above the glittering seal. It seemed so strange to see that elegant script that had written itself across her soul, especially now that she knew from whence it came. Even against the certainty that she would never see it again, the sight of the now familiar handwriting pierced her heart like an icicle. There was a sharp stab of cold… that eventually thawed.

The boy from Gallifreya was under strict orders not to depart without a reply, and so had stayed and ate and talked with her servants and pitched in to help with the minor workload. It still took her two days to open the envelope, braving each step - breaking the seal, then removing the sheets within, then opening them, then making herself read - as though she were facing a firing squad. The oddly relieved exhalation she let out as she began went overlooked as his words transported her, and she fancied she could hear his voice reading the lines aloud...

 

_Hello._

_My name is Matthew Robert Smith._

_I am the 11 th Earl of Gallifreya, and formerly an officer in the military. I have one elder brother (now deceased), one older sister whom I love more than life, a fabulous household of people to run my… household, and a stodgy catlike entity named Catherine who scratches anything in her reach. _

_I am tall and gangly, have a chronically flopping squiff of brown hair, deep-set hazel eyes, and a chin that someone probably christened with a magnum when I was born, but beside that I’m quite nice._

_I feel jumping in is the best (and perhaps only) way to get through a letter of this nature, so Geronimo. I thought I loved a woman before- her name was Daisy- but it wasn’t true love. I have only been in love once. I wasn’t supposed to fall for her (she was married to my Colonel) but I wrote to her out of duty and a strange desire to have someone to write to as wonderful as she seemed. Against all odds she wrote back and we started a correspondence. And I should have told her from the start who I was and why I was writing, but I didn’t want to hurt her. From the first, I wanted to spare her any pain- such an ironic motivation since I ended up wounded her by my omission._

_And even more amazingly was that I know she fell in love with me too. It was written as plainly between the lines of her letters as if her heart’s blood had forged a spell in place of mere ink and parchment._

_When I had a chance to meet her, to make her fall in love with me in the flesh, to fall in love with me for_ me _, by some miracle I think I accomplished it again. But then she learned I had kept something from her- something so big in her eyes that it overshadowed the love we’d come to share. After fighting so hard and working so long, I shattered her hard-won trust._

_I would not blame her if she hated me, could never forgive me. But I still hope that one day she will. That she might yet come back. That she might let me love her. I maintain no delusion that she might ever again love me in return, but if I am more blessed than a man has a right to be (as I must have been already to have won a woman like her) then perhaps I will be permitted to love her again- from whatever distance she allows… although I know now that no matter what her decision, I will do so anyway until the day I die._

_Yours, etc._

_Matthew Robert Smith_

 

* * *

 

It took another day of writing, editing, tearing up sheets of creamy vellum, and stalking away from the escritoire in annoyance at even _considering_ a reply before she produced what she felt to be a satisfactory letter. Her penmanship was deliberate as she inked a simple "Mr Smith" across the front, sprinkling pounce and running a blotter over it before giving it a flip. Her hand barely trembled as she pressed her seal into the luminous emerald wax, the vines almost alive, the scrolling grooves of the K proud yet feminine.

She handed it to Rose along with her breakfast tray, who delivered it to the lad after he finished helping Mrs. Bennett with the porridge pots. Halloway brought the fed, watered, and well rested gelding, and off the pair went towards their home.

The day they arrived, Laura had just retrieved the post from the front hall and was smiling over a letter from James when the boy came flying into the entryway. She raised an eyebrow over her glasses and the boy slid to a halt, bobbing a little frantically and offering her the letter in his hand. She left him slightly slackjawed when she snatched it in a manner quite unladylike, hitched up her skirts and dashed around the corner towards the hall.

Matt was holed up in his study, pretending to work as he had been for the last several days but probably sighing as he re-read the stack of letters he kept in the top right drawer of the desk. She burst into the room and he scrambled to get his feet on the floor, the drawer slamming home with a bang.

"Don't even bother," she interrupted when he started to open his mouth. "Just thought you'd appreciate some new material." She held back the stack of correspondence until she'd dropped a tender kiss on his temple, then handed it over and stood back. His hands nimbly sorted the letters into an untidy hill, then shook ever so slightly as he just sank back into his chair and stared at the envelope. And stared. And stared.

The mantelclock ticked on, doubtless with a far steadier rhythm than his heart at the moment. "I don't think it's going to bite, Matty." She walked to the door, waiting until one hand closed around the scrimshaw letter opener before she left him alone again.

So many scenarios flew through his mind as the blade cut through the top of the flap. She never wanted to hear from him again, she'd met someone new, she was moving to the Colonies and changing her name... _Alright, she probably wouldn't tell me if that were the case,_ he reasoned as he drew out the sheets and drew in a long breath before he began to read.

 

_Matthew,_

 

_I spent many hours pondering the appropriate nature of a reply to your letter. I am unsure if I should share that I was unable to let it feed the fire, nor was it relegated to the wastebin. Although the fact of a reply at all should be somewhat telling no matter the contents of its pages._

_It seems that you probably know all about me already but allow me to say this._

_I have been married twice. The first time I was married to a man who enticed me, who exerted enough charm to make me fall- although I’m ashamed to say that it took far less than it might have. I loved him, but it was a nervous sort of love. I tried so hard to make myself fit this box he wished to keep me in, and I always seemed to fail. When he left, I felt as though I must have done something else wrong. And I wrote him to see if there was anything there, anything I could do,_ should _do to make him happy… well happier with me._

_And when I received a reply, shy and sweet beneath the aloof uncertainty I could read there, it made me think there was more to him than I had previously thought. And as we wrote back and forth, I started to fall for the man in those pages… and I could tell he was starting to fall in love with me. It made me feel like it was real, like it was right if I would no longer be alone in my affections._

_When I thought I’d lost him I was devastated, and in my grief I thought I’d lost… everything. I had my daughter, but so little mattered – not even me. And then another man came along and saved me. He wed me and took me home, to the start of a real family. To a sister who accepted me almost immediately, whom I could easily love. They loved my little girl, and I forged a bond of true family – a chain of real love. They… he loved me through my grief, through my foolish pride, through a stubbornness born of too much hurt. And I came to love him too, in a way that felt… right in a way my other love had not._

_But I fought it, and tested it, before I trusted it. Perhaps ironic that when I finally did, I found out he had lied. The two men I’d fallen in love with were one in the same – and it no longer felt real, or right to stay. So I ran, to a house that I must admit no longer feels like a home._

_But I am going to stay here until I feel more like myself, until I’ve figured out how to love myself the way I am. It is the only way I can ever hope to truly love, and let myself be loved in return._

_Until I do, if you still feel like writing, you have my direction._

 

_Alex_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I decided to break it up so I'd have an even number of chapters (sue me- I'm slightly OCD.) but next, the correspondence continues!  
> also, I realize this is probably a superfluous request but please let me know how we're doing with this. liking it? hating it? about to torch the writer?


	37. Chapter 37

Alex did not delude herself regarding the likelihood of a reply, though she pondered the speed of its return. As a mere three-day ride stood between them now- rather than the three to five weeks, miles of foreign lands and litres of ocean it had been before- she knew a letter could arrive as swiftly as it could be penned.

So it was little surprise to her when the boy pitched up four days later with fresh correspondence. She wrote back, and from then on, there was a letter every Sunday afternoon. By Monday morning she would send a reply, which he would receive by the Thursday morning post, and round and round it went.

The letters began to fill with minor events of the interims, small landmarks of their day, and occasionally notes, letters and small trinkets were sent from other members of the household as well.

_Salome crawled across the carpet today! I was momentarily startled when I turned away to spoon some mash into a bowl and turned back to find her a few yards away, but it faded to delight as I began to make a game of it. She stumbled once or twice, her tiny face mercifully escaping any abrasions, but on the whole it was a successful jaunt. She wanted me to pass on her news._

* * *

 

_Smashing! Please tell the poppet I couldn’t be happier… and if I may be so bold, look forward to seeing her progress someday. Soon._

_Laura and James had a picnic in the greenhouse yesterday. Things went well for a quarter hour, until it became apparent our Leadworth transplant has terrible hayfever. But Laura tenderly dabbed his nose with a handkerchief and rubbed his shoulders soothingly between sneezes and moved them to the family dining room. I think she may have even dared a kiss- so long as she was not too put off by mucus._

* * *

_Well I dare say a woman in love wouldn’t mind. I don’t suppose you ever allow yourself to grow ill, do you? Remarkable for a man who ingests as much sugar and sweets as you, but perhaps it’s the military bearing… it just seems as though illness would take one look and decide to seek a victim elsewhere._

_I find myself envious of such stamina. I have had more energy of late, to be sure, and my appetite has returned with a vengeance, but I seem plagued by the strangest of things. The saddle soap Halloway was using, the scent of Beatrice boiling suet for pudding, the sight of those pale pink earthworms stranded on the flagstones after the rainstorm… in fact, mere recollections seem to be dangerous. Pray allow me to shift to a safer topic._

_Per the request from your cook, enclosed is Mrs. Bennett’s recipe for praline crusts. I hope you find them as delightful as we do._

* * *

 

_Alex,_

_First the important things. The praline crusts were quite smashing. Jenna whipped up one of her soufflés with the praline as an addition to the base… Words fail me to accurately describe it. You must allow her to make it for you sometime._

* * *

 

_Salome has been babbling away, small noises sounding suspiciously more like speech by the day. My sketchbook has become a gallery of sorts, as I identify the faces I know she recognizes. She responds to the renderings of Jenna and Laura… and you with delight and some sort of singular identifier._

_Laura has apparently taken over your moniker of lll-looo (which is actually rather close), and Jenna actually gets a “na!” but only I think because her little mouth can’t quite grasp a J sound yet._

_I still wish to hear ‘mama’ tumble from those little lips, but as yet I have been outranked. By BALL of all things. She was sitting on the carpet while I sketched her, that tiny striped ball you gave her being batted around like a cat with a toy. And then she stopped. She picked it up, and looked at it carefully, and then out came “ball” neat as you please._

_Next thing either of us knew, I have her in my arms whirling like a dervish and crying like a rainstorm. I didn’t even notice._

* * *

 

_I know well the feeling! Everyone here was delighted at Salome’s milestone. Laura, Jenna, Cecily and Olivia squealed for many long moments – I found myself counting blessings we keep no hounds. I myself shall take the opportunity to engage her in a lengthy debate about Parliament when next we meet._

_Laura and James grow closer by the hour, it seems. I hear the faint clamor of church bells in the future, and visions of white and lace now fill my field of vision whenever I see my sister. I know when the hour arrives a notice will be dispatched if you are not yet returned, that you may be readily informed, and perhaps enticed to return and offer advice and counsel. I fear lengthy discussions of ribbons and hemlines and poetic vows are beyond me, even for my sister. I would gladly give her away to the right man, but I fear in the meantime I would do well to have someone to hand her off to._

_Speaking of happy tidings… I hope this will reach you on the day, but even if it is before or a bit delayed, I wanted to extend my wishes for a pleasant birthday. Laura and Jenna send along their love, though the present they selected for you is a tad cumbersome to be handled on horseback. And if further incentive is required, there is promise of a cake when…ever you might return._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I promised a new chapter, and here we go. it's a bit short, but I'm still shooting for an even number of chapters. option 1 was posting the few remaining chapters one after the other, to beat my 1 year deadline. however, I'm just going to keep up the once a week update.
> 
> in other news I sliced my hand open, so typing one-handed is going to put me a bit behind. however, as soon as my stitches are out, I will be posting something new. hope you like it.


	38. Chapter 38

Alex awoke (or rather opened her eyes again as she had not been asleep to begin with) and watched the early fingers of dawn tiptoeing into the bedroom through the gap in the damask curtains. Her eyes flitted to her daughter, sleeping soundly in her crib. Then her gaze turned, as it had so many times the past few days, to the letter on her writing table. The rich blue envelope, the address in silver ink in an all too familiar hand, the creamy stationery within spilling out as though anxious to be read.

But despite the break with the tentative tradition they had forged these past weeks, the letter remained unanswered. It had been delivered a day past its usual return, owing to the master’s delay in town on estate business. Timothy, the footman who handled this and all deliveries betwixt his mistress and master, had sat down in the kitchen for his usual snack, figuring to be on his way by dinnertime if ink or inspiration stuck. Instead, day had slipped into night, and the few servants kept at the Hall invited him to share their meal and bed down for the night- something he had not had cause to do since his first delivery.

But come the morning, rather than a fresh letter pressed into his palm, he had been summarily dismissed and sent back to Gallifreya to convey the message that there would be no reply forthcoming. A bit dizzy at the gravity of the news and its incendiary potential once delivered to his master, Timothy had walked his horse calmly up the drive, rather than mounting and sprinting off as was his wont. With any luck, he’d be struck by lightning on the way back, or fall and break his neck and thus be spared having to tell his master the unhappy news.

Something told him he would not be that fortunate.

What the hapless lad could not have known was that Alex had spent much of the previous day and night pacing her chamber, desperately seeking an answer to her current dilemma. Just after her last letter had departed the Hall, Alex had passed the day in bed, all newfound energies fled. A visit from the doctor and the recent confirmation of a growing suspicion had left her completely at sea.

The knuckle of one thumb was raw and red from being gnawed on in contemplation, and the skin surrounding her bleary eyes was in much the same condition. A few fitful hours of dreamless unrefreshing sleep and Alex had decided that if no response were in the works, she would not have a Gallifreyan footman cooling his heels indefinitely in her home.

And now she stared once more at the letter that had gone unanswered, the pile of crumpled vellum and foolscap that littered the floor, the words she wished to write penned in the air before her. The faint ticking of the mantelclock and Salome’s soft breathing were the only sounds in the still room. Thus it had been for countless hours as she ran pell-mell along courses of action, selecting and discarding them like chess pieces.

Finally Alex strode to the bellpull and gave a smart tug. She was already mentally packing her belongings and wondering what could wait to come along when Rose arrived, bobbing a curtsey and only a little out of breath.

Alex felt a strange calm, some hidden internal strength stiffen her spine like a strip of forged steel. She knew.

It was time to go back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this was short, but I was debating trying to get the final chapters done by Alex's birthday next week. we'll see; if not, it'll be in 2 weeks.  
> hope you like it.


	39. Chapter 39

Eleven days. It had eleven miserable soul sucking days, and Matt knew because he had felt the passage of every godforsaken moment move like sludge through a pipe.

One day, then two had gone past her usual deadline, long past when the boy should have been back... and still there was no reply. He was about to send out a search party on day three when Timothy had been all but shoved through the door of his study by Jenna, twisting his cap in his hands like he could reshape his future if only he focused hard enough, and delivered the message from Milady herself that there would be none. The extra days had come from Alex’s delay and him walking the horse as much as possible to linger in the distances between his lord and lady; without good news to deliver, he had not wanted to hasten.

Days four through six were spent wandering the halls in a daze, puzzling over and over what might have gone wrong. What had he said, what had he done, to make her turn like this? Every word he could recall from his last letter turned over in his mind like stones on a beach, until the relentless waves of his consciousness crashed and scrubbed the inside of his head raw.

Days seven and eight had passed caged in his rooms like an animal, refusing to eat, snarling and hurling handy projectiles at anyone who dared intrude on his solitary confinement.

Day nine, Laura had put her foot down and enlisted James, two grooms and three footmen to wrestle Matt out of the reeking remains of his five-day-worn clothing and into a steaming tub. Fresh soap and hot water were supplied by Jenna and the small army of scrubwomen and scullery maids at her command, who also removed the detritus of his tantrum and set the room to sweeter smelling rights.

The few days’ growth on his cheeks was shorn off and he was bullied into clean clothes before being bustled downstairs. A lavish meal was laid out for supper, and a sullen but squeaky clean Matt was forced to eat two platefuls under Laura’s watchful eye before she sent his resentful self back to bed.

The tenth day had been a little better. Matt had apologized to anyone who’d borne his lash-outs, and Laura had taken him through the slowly perking garden for some brisk fresh air. He’d spent the afternoon poring over slightly neglected ledgers, finding nothing gravely amiss, and had even managed a smile at dinner. That night, he actually slept in bed, rather than the fainting couch or wing chair he had favored since Alex’s departure.

Today he was once more holed up in his study, making notes in a ledger with his head bent down - when he heard the door open and someone enter with a faint rustle of skirt. Knowing it was about the time the post arrived (the small anticipatory leap of his heart would have to be schooled back out of him) he didn’t bother looking up.

“Just leave the post and get out, Jenna.” The rustle whispered over the carpet and stood by the desk, then halted, waiting. A sigh broke from his lips and his pen stalled on the page, but still he didn’t look up.

“What is it?” A letter crinkled into view, and he tossed it a cursory glance- then snapped his attention back to the satiny stationery in his sightline. He knew that handwriting. He knew that hand.

Following the line of her sleeve up to her shoulder and _dear Lord, Jenna was a few inches too short to be the one…_ His eyes rose the final centimeters to her face.

Alex was standing by his desk.

“I thought I should deliver this in person,” she said shyly of the letter still extended near his nose. He was on his feet before he knew he’d moved, approaching cautiously- drawn like a magnet but terrified of making her run again. When she stood an arm’s length away he stopped. Forcing his hands to stay at his sides, he stood, waiting- unaware he was holding in his breath.

One small hand reached up to caress his cheek and it felt like a dam shattering. Everything within - everything he’d been fighting and holding back - rushed out and he swept her into his arms, holding her tight and spinning her round until she breathlessly pleaded with him to stop.

He did and simply held her, starting to say… something - until he felt a sudden warm moisture against his shoulder. A smile that began at the thought of her crying happy tears crumpled quickly as the sickly stench hit his nostrils and he looked from Alex’s slightly tear-stained but rapidly reddening face to the spot of vomit currently staining his waistcoat and back again.

She spoke through the fingers pressed lightly against her mouth. “Sorry about that. But I _did_ tell you to stop.”

“Wha- un- whu-” Matt spluttered, eyeing her incredulously as he swiftly undid the buttons on his waistcoat and carefully folded it into a wad as he removed it. Casting about momentarily about what to do, he finally settled on striding to the window, throwing up the sash and setting the soiled bundle outside on the ledge before sucking in a deep lungful of bracingly clean air. The window closed with a thud as he turned back to face her, a bit calmer as he approached again. He handed her a glass of water, which she sipped gratefully until it was gone. Then he set the glass aside and took her hands gently in his with a soft sigh. “Are you alright?”

Alex’s lashes fluttered down to her cheeks, then flashed back up to reveal a steady but uneasy green eyed gaze. “I suppose… that depends… on what you consider alright.” Gently turning her hand to cover his, she drew it close and slid it to rest over her stomach before looking up at him expectantly. He looked down at their hands, at his now clean shoulder and then at her face, back and forth in a triangle of dawning realization.

“Alex… are… are you… are _we_?”

She nodded, a tremulous smile on her lips before she tugged the lower one between her teeth. He halted the action with a gentle press of his own before his head snapped back up, the hand not glued to her stomach flying to his mouth. “But then… that means… you and me…” A series of fluttering kissy noises issued as a conclusion, and Alex chuckled.

“Yes, it does.”

He straightened a bit, spine like a ramrod as it flooded with pride, and touched his bowtie, obviously chuffed at the news. Then he looked at her - _really_ looked - and softened again, gently wrapping her in his arms and leaning in until his forehead lay against hers. “And you? Are you… well? Are you happy about this? Is this… what you want?”

She shivered slightly in his arms. “I didn’t know, at first. I took a lot of time to think. I didn’t want to come back to you because of this. I wanted to come back… because I wanted to. I know you love Sal, and you’ve been amazing… with both of us. But…”

“But I said we had to try for an heir,” he ground out as his grip on her tightened. Alex’s curls tickled his chin as she nodded against his lapels.

“I worried it might not be a boy, that you might be disappointed. I thought you might… just try to take it away from me. I even thought…” She broke off to draw in a ragged breath. “Oh it’s awful, but for the sparest of desperate seconds I thought I could keep it from you. Just run away and never tell you… or drink herb teas and go galloping over the hillocks until it-”

A half-choked sob burst out, and Matt realized what she was saying. And yet strangely enough he felt no hatred, no disgust- only pity, a soul-deep sympathy that she might ever feel so despondent, so trapped.

Eventually she calmed, a shaky little voice filling the silence. “But then I remembered… the first thought I had, when I figured it out. The very first one.” Her fingers curled tightly into his shirtfront and she snuggled closer, as though she could burrow under his skin and take refuge there. He was more than content to let her.

He pressed a lingering kiss to her temple and laid his cheek against her hair. “What was it?”

Matt felt rather than saw the apple of her cheek blossom against his chest in a smile. “That we were pregnant. That I couldn’t wait to tell you, because _we_ were pregnant… and that I couldn’t wait to see you be a father again. That’s when I realized it was time to come home, so we could **be** a family again. That this is what I really really want… as long as I can have it with you.”

His eyes squeezed shut against the threatening moisture. “Darling… you’re really sure?”

Tears shimmered in her eyes as she pulled back to regard him, but the glow of her expression spawned a corresponding warmth in his chest as she nodded, surging up to capture his lips with her own.

A gentle knock on the door broke the reverie they were lost in sharing, practically dancing to an unheard tune on the carpet. Laura stood there with a pink-cheeked Salome, mindless of the tear tracks across her own. The instant Matt turned, Salome lit up like a Roman candle. The Smith siblings closed the gap to one another, he reached for the little girl and she all but flew into his arms with a delighted squeal.

He peppered her chubby face with kisses as she giggled with abandon, Alex and Laura watching from a fond embrace. And when he pulled back to look at her, she put her little hands on his cheeks with a sober expression of extreme concentration.

Alex held her breath and clutched an unsuspecting Laura a little closer. Matt waited, eyes flicking to his wife then back to his daughter, hesitantly confused. Then, “papa” emerged from her tiny mouth and everyone in the room simultaneously went to pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well my darlings, we've come to (almost) the end. there's an epilogue and then this literary journey will have reached its conclusion. (I don't know about you guys, but I'm exhausted.)  
> I do thank you all so much for sticking with me, through travel and injury and bad bouts of writers' block - not to mention the *spectacular* angst fest I've been throwing at you throughout.  
> this has truly been a labour of love, and you guys made it so much fun and so utterly worth it.
> 
> congrats to everyone who figured out Alex's issue, and thank you again for your comments, your fangirling, and your phenomenally incredible support; the English language is ill-equipped to sufficiently convey the depths of my appreciation for it.


	40. Epilogue

March sunshine, warm if a little weak, painted the hills and slopes of the grounds of Gallifreya. It was still a bit too cold to stay out for long, but affection and activity seemed to be doing their part to keep the Smiths sufficiently snug.

A little girl played in the sunlight, her soft brown curls bobbing as she toddled around the gardens, one hand wrapped firmly around her aunt’s finger, the other reverently reaching for flowers just beginning to peek. The sparkling pink diamond that dominated her aunt’s hand had stopped drawing her fascination a few days prior.

Matthew watched his daughter affectionately, his attention eventually diverting to the ever growing bundle in the pram. Casper Edward Kingston-Smith - future heir to the dom but at the moment a wriggling little beetroot - was enjoying his first day in the pre-spring sunshine.

His daughter was strong and lively and lovely, chattering eagerly to anyone who would listen and absorbing words so fast nearly everyone had begun to watch what they said in her hearing.

His beautiful sister, engaged and deliriously happy and due to be given away in 6 weeks’ time, hadn’t stopped talking about the honeymoon tour her brother had bestowed: a week in Egypt, five days in Italy, and two weeks on the Riviera before returning to a small neighboring estate that James could afford. Wedding planning finally at an end (much to Matt’s relief; if he’d been asked to model a petticoat or judge a neckline one more time…) Laura was taking a well-deserved break soaking up fresh air… and keeping Salome suitably distracted.

Matt’s heart swelled with pride and happiness for his family… and a sincere longing for the woman who was not by his side. The pram had stilled except for a little rocking motion, and Matt’s eyes strayed to the new stone bench beneath the oak tree at the edge of the gardens. Casper began to fuss and Matt broke from his reverie to scoop him into his arms, making soothing clucks and patting his bottom.

“Now, now. None of that. It’s a beautiful day, and your aunt and sister are having fun- the same fun you’ll be having come the summer, or Christmas, or next year…” Casper stilled a little at his father’s voice, but continued to squirm. He didn’t need changing, he wasn’t due to eat for another hour, and it wasn’t cold enough quite yet to take him in. He just missed his mother- as did his father.

So Matt thought a moment, and gathered Casper closer, and rocked him in his arms, and began to speak. “Someday, my son, when you’re a little bit older and can listen to me rambling on, I’ll tell you all about how mummy fell in love with daddy.”

He paused as a single tear trickled over his cheek, and Casper reached a tiny hand to catch it. “You see… it’s quite the tale to tell …”

“And most of it is even true,” came a voice near his elbow. Casper let out a squeal of joy, and Matt wheeled a bit to view Alex, who had approached with a great deal more stealth than he could’ve managed. One finger fit itself into her son’s questing palm, while her other hand reached up to lay against her husband’s cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch like an animal seeking a pet, smiling as her thumb brushed over the damp track of his tear.

Then he heard the pitter patter of fast approaching little feet, and his eyes flew open just as Salome leapt into her mother’s arms. Laura followed right behind, wrapping her dear sister – and niece by default – into a tight hug and brushing her hand over her nephew’s little cap of auburn hair. She pulled back enough to look Alex in the eye, though not quite releasing her family from the circle of her arms.

Without sparing a glance at the other, the siblings chorused the same thought. “I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow!”

Alex settled Salome against her hip so she was sandwiched between mother and aunt and explained. “Well Mr. Bloomsbury turned out to be better stocked than I’d thought and the roads cleared right up from the rain, and we were making such good time I couldn’t bear the idea of waiting any longer to get home. So I didn’t.”

“Fowers, mummy?” Salome asked.

Alex tapped the tip of her nose with her finger, making the little girl giggle. “That’s absolutely right, darling. All the flowers on my list and some nice shrubs to go around the new bench and more…”

Matt shifted Casper higher up on his arm, freeing his other to wrap around his wife. Alex slotted herself under Matt’s shoulder, snug and contented in the Smiths’ embrace, her daughter in her arms, her son happily burbling.

They were a family, connected by lines of love that would bind them together for eternity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well it took *checks last post date, blushes* a bit longer than I'd expected to post this (sorry about that) but here it is: my final chapter. you guys have been amazing, truly awesome and so sweet throughout this crazy journey of mine, and I only hope the ending is to your liking.
> 
> *** Special shout-out to tisziny! just for you, Miss Clai: baby Casper as a nod to the work that got me hooked into this fandom. ***  
> ** Extra special thank-you with cherries on top to ChiefDoctor: you're fabulous and I honestly question if I'd have reached the end without you. hugs and loves, D. **
> 
> (also, sorry-not-sorry about the fake-out, but I was REALLY waffling over whether or not to kill her. I figured have my fun and keep my Alex too was the best option... not to mention safest. I love ya, but I don't quite trust you guys not to form a lynch mob if I mucked this up.)  
> just let me get back to the pillow fort and sit down before you hit me with your comments. ... ... ... *zips into a flak jacket and grabs up a glass of champagne* okay. go.


End file.
